Border poem

One of the poems I wrote yesterday during the Poets in the Park festivities.

We might have thought
about the flow
had we not been confronted
by outlines laid down
as invisible markers
upon the earth

We regard these lines
as walls and fences
paying great attention
to their colours and textures
how tall and thick they are
and who they can keep out

But what good are walls
that don’t support a roof?

What good are walls
that don’t hold art?

What good are walls
that don’t allow me to meet you?

(20 July 2019—posted July 21st)

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