What Is the Meaning of This?

When it’s unpeopled and I’m wayside,

And the road is only a long reflection

With nothing but the shadows of clouds,

I might think of something I’ve read 

Recently, maybe an illustrator asking

“How random and disorienting

Could a map be while keeping all

The information you need?” A thrush

Works through a repertoire, 

While crickets savor their monotony,

And both together remind me

Of the differences between 

Information and its meanings,

Which come down the road

Like shadows and glide into trees.

How random and disorienting

Would an accurate map of the world,

Written, pictured, and numbered,

Moving constantly, imbued at all points

With meanings it makes temporarily,

Only temporarily, have to be?