I collide with Michael’s boundaries.
His boundaries edge long wide fields stretching
As far as the horizons- the are beautiful like ancient stone walls fashioned during long years of habit and solitude.
I don’t know where they end or begin I just know they are implacable and
strong and when they come down like a prison gate
I don’t know which side I am on.
My boundaries are fluid and vertical
thrown up in response to acute pressure or deep
They are beautiful too, I think, like many things born in the fissures of change.
I collide with Michael’s boundaries
damn damn, I think,
I have done it again
I slam my head with a blue flowered vase.
It feels somewhat the same.