Map of the Wind

Upon the stone’s skin, the map of the wind appears,
drawn across the city’s bone structure.
Each lane is a ribcage breathing history,
and time beats to the pavement’s steady pace.
Memories wander through the narrow ways, fading with sign and rain,
only to be found where the path grows true.
Within the sigh, an unseen line draws near,
pointing to a way I don’t know, yet feel is clear.
Thus I move forward; the route is not drawn, but breathed within.
When the trace grazes its limit, I realize it is the way.
The map remains, yet it guides no path; the way resides within,
and the return occurs where the heart learns to hear.