Out on the border a howl goes up, skinning the cold air. A windrush as if from enormous wings descending Slicks the grass down and thumps, and the whole sky bruises. Out on the border it stops just as suddenly As if there were some mistake, and there is: mortal beauty This world can't bear, and a skeletal silence Administrates the clouds, their passages, their dissolutions in light. Out on the border right and wrong are more distinct, But the border itself is suggestive, permissive, a thinly dotted line. Amassed armies of forests and grasses poise, Encroach, but never cross. Even the sky stays on one side. Another howl goes up, not a threat as was thought, But an invitation to an interior. The border Halves a piece of paper into here and hereafter. A man, himself a fascicle of borders, draws a map and can't stop drawing For fear of bleeding, smudging, disappearance. When the map is complete the page will be completely Obscured by detail, then a third howl. Three things about the border are known: It's real, it doesn't exist, it's on all the black maps. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 6. NIGHT LANDING by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER TENEBRIS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE SUMMER DAWN by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) THE ROSEBUSH AND THE TRINITY by ALFRED BARRETT LOVE POSTPONED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT PORTRAIT IN THE HORIZONTAL by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MOURNER'S CONSOLED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |