Wall

On the ‘right’ side of whatever wall

It is the way we say it is, simply
here and us, here in our wide-open house
built out of landscape, grass we understand
and graze, water, roads, fields of grain.

Crystal-clear places filled with stars and gods
are our roof and here all actions speak for
themselves – and so they must, there’s no room
here for what has remained untamed, unknown.

And yet beyond the meandering border of this
thinking, the mortared project labelled we, the enemy’s
always waiting and I don’t know him, he won't fit

inside this head, this order, the nowadays in which
I live as if in a night that’s filled with danger and din
and close the windows which keep on blowing open.