Border Country

There is no end in me

for the Border Country

beyond the wall and the gate

the fields run away endlessly.

There is no end in me

for the Border Country

there's all this space to incarnate

and all the selves that I could be.

And so I stand

quiet in its wake and watchful,

a sense of myself

fleeting as a touch of joy (on a winter morning stark blue,

cheeks like bones in the scent of birds).

there is no end in me.

Maybe all is as it should be,

that I should find myself at home

among the many lives that sing to me

that I should find myself at home

among the many lives that sing to me.