SPACE

Where does the border
Lie between our lands?
For though its line rules
Firm upon the page
It cannot be traced by
Sight across the ground,
And even to the many
Folk who step across it
Regularly with ease
It seems to have been
Laid uneasily.
Ordered to existence far
Across a tract of soil
Made specific by a
Pull of ink on paper,
But where no plough or
Hand scratched any mark,
Or white road signs or
Marking posts or even
Pissing dogs point out
How attention was
Divided.
And the manner of the
Language used left no one
Doubting the commitment
To its cause, under concreted
Yard stone, unseen for years
Worth, the dirt of early
Embers awaits a late return,
In case we dare uncross a
Foot and leave its print
Where someone else’s
Trod.