Sunday, August 25, 2013

Boundaries


Rusting strand of wire
Sagging from the endless watch
Of holding the memory
Of the boundary

Once proud it had been strung tight
Wind harp that sang for trees
Harmonic to rustling leaves
Now collapsing vein of capillaried rust

Farmers happy in their belief
The boundary’s due east
From that tree on the hill
Wire fence not needed

Great, great grandfather
Did that,
He marked the boundaries
Everyone knows that

Though whether great, great grandfather
Was great
Or more a rogue who took what land he liked
Who knew, who cared

The boundary remained in place
The fence, a training jump for joeys
The tree on the hill
Now skeletal hand upturned

Everyone knew the boundaries
Except me
I can never find that rusting wire

That lets me know the boundaries

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