Gas giants is why I drew this map for you

Tear every page out to make a narrow path of testament. So ink stains like dirt between toes. Disillusioned is subtext, never printed but always a fire hugging the hills into dusk. That's where we're headed. So maybe you walk with me a while, try not to laugh when the pages crinkle. This is supposed to be serious work, our trek to the sea. But soon Jupiter will rise beside waxing moons. Lunatic moons, nightgaunts flowing past in receding tide. With the sea turtles they leave tracks and wet their wings and choke on salt and drown and float through shipwreck. And we breathe against their current, their bodies brushed by. And what can we do, under lunatic moons, with Jupiter's air so sweet, but laugh.