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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE VILLAGE by HAYDEN CARRUTH MY FATHER'S FACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ANCHORED TO THE INFINITE by EDWIN MARKHAM BETRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS GOD AND MY COUNTRY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |