The map says
Sudbury, Regina, Winnipeg.

To me they mean:

Someone there said yes.

Yes, come.
Yes, play.
Yes, there is a piano.

The last yes
is frequently fictional.

At 7pm
people arrive.

They could be home
watching television
and eating popcorn.

Instead they sit
while I open
my luggage of songs.

I keep driving. Canada gets smaller.

A town becomes a person.
A highway becomes a memory.
A hotel becomes a verse.

Eventually no cities, only stories
pretending to be cities.