Boundary Stones #1
How to define the history
of Hermes slipping in
and out of windows,
leaving finger prints
where the note should read
“I’m moving out of town
because our arguments
were stronger than love.
Don’t try to contact me
or complicate loss.”
So I dwell on perfect statues
instead of the pebble
I found when I was a child
rubbing the skin off my hand.
Boundary Stones #2
Here is the meeting place
where another language languishes
from a time
before you or I were born.
The words cut deep into the stone
lashed by wind,
washed with rain and here
is the meeting place we can choose
to go backwards or forwards
while we live and die
like the message:
remember to buy milk in the morning.
I want it with my muesli
so not to starve with you.
Boundary Stones #3
The boundary stones
of misheard words
hurts less than silence.
You sit by my side
and stare out the window
without blinking an eye
the way you live in the present,
the way you visit
the past, the way you refuse
to jump the border
and imagine
I exist like an undiscovered
planet waiting
to be found.
Boundary Stones #4
Your pattern
of packing borrowed books
fingered by strangers
who refuse to dog ear
a page. Why return to a paragraph
when you have other maps
in the glove box of your car.
It must be comforting
to know when to turn right,
when to turn left
and for variety,
there’s always the scenic route
to keep you awake
so you can fall asleep at my place.
Boundary Stones #5
The stone boundary
markers were drenched
with sacrificial blood
and placed on flowers
to renew protective powers
back when a festival
called Terminalia
was celebrated annually,
back when gods
were gods and magic
meant more than escape
from reality in a world where we
don’t have to pretend
we’ll ever meet again.
Boundary Stones #6
I watched you sleep
that Saturday afternoon.
Your face looked like death
or a dream disturbed
when I woke you to say there’s no
blood on your hands
and sometimes I wonder
if there is blood in your veins.
There’s no sacrifice
to be made. There’d be too much fuss
and I don’t think the gods
could do anything to improve
your refusal
to gain anything by change.
Boundary Stones #7
Warnings are written on boundary
stones.
They’re more like a long list
of curses,
the sort I didn’t voice
last night
even though voices in my head
stopped short of wanting you dead.
My hand
is a powerful fist
that cracks
your jaw
with one loose tooth
to carve
my message in.
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