Roots and Boundaries


Staring out

a thousand eyeless windows.

Each light a soul

and every cluster

a creation.

Hard concrete skins,

steel steam pipe vessels,

and an appetite

that never ceases to feed,

or fight, or fuck.

There is no starlight

where the streetlight glow.

The bright moon,

displaced by lit neon

and kaleidoscopic billboards.

Moving through this place

gives the feeling of being

all at once,

anonymous and exposed.

But every city

has a boundary.

Like the edge

of an old scar,

where damaged tissue

touches new, virgin skin,

yet unmolested

by designers.

Out there,

the roots run deep,

and there is warm light,

rather than cold indifference.

The street lights

are replaced with stars,

and the endless warren

of roads, windows,

and doors that lead nowhere

is absent.

Everything exists

in every direction.

The sun,

the moon,

the stars,

plain in a vivid sky.

Out here,

the light seem to hold

more purchase on existence

than those thousands

of dead, city eyes

that stare out at the night.

There is something to be said

for roots and boundaries.

It seems healthful

that one should have both.



DJR – 2023

Leave a Reply