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, and fields of grain.

Crystal-clear places filled with stars and gods
make up our roof and here all actions speak for
themselves – and so they must, there is no room
for what was left untamed and stays unknown.

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

inside this head, this orderedness, the now 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.