The speaker asks to be shown a place as it was before any city stood on it, and the opening line already sounds like a demand and a plea at once. The city is treated almost as a falsehood laid over the land, something that has bent the natural shape of things. The word "Unmapping" in the title fits this: the poem seems to want to peel streets and borders away.
The strangest image is the foot as an "indignity" to a stone. Every step on a path is a small insult, a human claim pressed onto something older. Yet the last lines turn a little. "As if appointed to meet / on the holy road" suggests that walking can also feel like a kind of rendezvous, almost a ritual. The mood is hushed and uneasy, both reverent and guilty. The speaker seems caught between wanting to undo what people have built and sensing that the road itself might be sacred.