The Borderlines

Watch along the borderlines,
out where the edges meet
and mix their colors in the sand
that stretches down the beach,
not knowing of a start or end
or which belongs to which,
whose property is over there
or just who owns what ditch.

Watch along the borderlines
that meet in shades of gray
and turn to solid black or white
at least ten miles away.
Up close, there is no clarity
or sense of this and that,
no exit signs above the door
nor worn out welcome mat.

Watch along the borderlines,
where fences do not last
but turn to rust and fade away,
their ink not colorfast.
Out here, there is no us or them,
no sane or lunacy;
only horizon stretching on,
connecting sea to sea.

18 APR 2013

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