THE BORDER by Paul John Roach
On the border
Between mountain and valley
I watch the swans fly
Without limitation.
A wooden cabin
Next to a stream
That bubbles and flows
Through grasses and flowers
Is my home.
All that passes
Passes by
Without hindrance.
Beyond the forest
A victory is celebrated
With fireworks,
Then all is calm again.
Borders, barriers and walls
Are absent here,
Or at least
They are wisps of barbwire
Wrapped upon
Fallen moss wet posts.
Speak, and you can hear your voice
From far away,
Be still
And you can receive a blessing
And be one.
On the border
Where the beautiful swans fly.