things move around

Came to a coast of channels and inlets,
camped there two nights in a cove, close by
a bay in which mountainside vapours collected,
filtered by fir trees.
                           An isle
resembling the back of whale was visible
the first afternoon, when the sun topped the crags
behind us, and skerried the shadows and mist.

[…]

The map unrolling into the West, the New
undoing the architecture of the Old, the gust
of the Motherland on our backs and on our lips.