A Map Is a Kind of Weather

The route card says clear.

At the atlas desk
I take the clouds out
of the little square
where the line must end.

Four witness marks agree
on the ridge.
The resident field
has never been filled.

On the paper card
someone has cut three notches
beside a pressure reading.
The fourth is a crease.
I turn the sheet
to see if it continues.

The export asks
for the people the map
doesn't contain:
EMPTY, NONE, OTHER.
I choose OTHER.
The public legend
prints EMPTY.

A weather symbol
covers the blank's full width.
The old route still fits
inside the border.

Rain comes through
the cracked window
and puckers the witness card.
I set it across the export.
Rain freckles both papers.
The three notches interrupt
the word EMPTY
in the smallest print.