On The Brink

September 3, 2017

I live in a village on the woodsedge.

Pin oaks and sugar maples lead past

creeping Charlie and dandelions,

beckoning me away from what’s human

toward something larger and smaller, both.

The chickadees scold me fondly,

the pokeweed sets its purpling berries, and

of an evening, tree frogs whir their approval.

Everything speaks of borders.

Everything asks me to cross.          


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