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A butterfly cotillion across the border;
On fences, climbing roses, emboss the border.
History of mankind, written on ancient walls,
Poems upon cement, traverse the border.
Nein fraulein, no exit out, no entrance into . . .
Today, freiheit freely transverses the border.
My great grandfather left his blood upon this land:
Where barbarians come to reverse the border.
Inside gardens, Japanese beetles have their way.
As coyotes and smugglers commerce the border.
On the northern path, travelers hit stone barricades,
Would that migrating jaguars could curse the border!
Lovely white crane, have you lost your travel schedule?
Through zones of lights and noise, can't you cross the border?
Between souls, flow a river partition of silk
As Susan, to your arms will crisscross the border.
Will I remember your face when it reaches the sky?
I am not so good with death or becoming the sky.
It feels so real, this posture of love and duration.
You are my candidate for a never-ending sky.
Will you teach me how to dream of the rope letting go?
I will walk in the river as my feet meet the sky.
There is no mirror to reflect my too-longing hand.
There is no moment of truth but instant ripping sky.
Now I will dream of your face as it washes away.
Then I will go to the place where they sell the old sky.
But the notion of the ocean can never be taught.
When I was born I was launched from a shell and the sky.
When I found you on the ground I may have found heaven.
When I am lost we can talk of the land between sky.
When there is no dark and no hand I will make you leave.
I will leap and never fall from the hole in the sky.
Remembering how I found you before I found you.
I am in love with the colors of the smooth free sky.
they say that life's but a joke
indeed elsewhere!
where do you see a wealthy broke?
indeed elsewhere!
can you sense fire sans smoke?
indeed elsewhere!
is love an embrace and not a yoke?
indeed elsewhere!
where would you accept all that i spoke?
indeed elsewhere!
we generally know the right choice
indeed elsewhere!
My God why are things done like this?
Life becomes shaved of fun like this.
As he hung between thieves, did you
question sending your son like this?
I floated on buoyant belief,
now each day weighs a ton like this.
I pull the threads of creation
and my world comes undone; like this.
The crowds chase the unbeliever,
amazed how he can run like this.
I laugh at the dyslexic dog
wonder, should people pun like this?
Shangdi, Yahwah, Allah or God?
Each preacher says there's none — like this.
He praises Allah: Pulls the pin:
such acts of worship stun: Like — This.
On both sides the priests bless the troops
praise not the cross, but gun like this.
Cloistered away from other men
why be a monk or nun like this?
I laze upon a pebbled beach,
wonder, who made the sun like this?
My thoughts diminish in circles;
a spider's web is spun like this.
Swiss-like precision of cycles —
Can I ignore — Someone like this?
I could deny your existence
and yet, would I have won like this?
Ben lives in a state of darkness
yet the world was begun like this.
I lie awake listening. A ring echoes. Mid-June birdsong.
Asleep, Barbara stumbles from our bed to the phone but it's birdsong.
Toby grapples the bloody quarter chicken, seeking purchase,
a place to insert his teeth, crack bone. He doesn't hear birdsong.
Spruce Mountain, early morning. Toby runs ahead. No crash
of moose or bear, just the trickle of birdsong.
Barbara catches sound in the thick shadow trees behind our house,
a thrush's call to prayer, to solitude, to our own birdsong.
"What's that?" Lucinda asks, head cocked. Izzy nuzzles the baby.
Wakeland squeals. Days later, Nicky whistles the same birdsong.
For Richard
Hungered spirits roam, incomplete at home.
Birds leave nest, then return, replete at home.
Does man have a place to call his own?
Nomads of Earth, pause, bittersweet at home.
Ultimate strangers on the cosmic road,
Amid life's see-saw, feel upbeat at home.
Remember when first married, starting out?
A whole snowbound day: indiscreet at home.
To others, appear with sterling façade.
Click click, images delete at home.
Luncheons of grassy salads with goat cheese,
Then to dine with white marguerites at home!
Frazzle of electronically seared nerves.
Solace of silence, without beeps at home!
A blaring twenty-first century pitch . . .
Inside surround-sound of Bach suites at home!
Is the world too much with you, then and now?
Into Susan's arms you retreat at home.
Borders — transitions, transactions, movement, changes of condition. In these six ghazals, there is ample awareness of boundaries and crossing them. The sky is a kind of boundary as well, phenomenon of light and vision, an arena of questions and awe. Or we experience not crossing very evident borders as in "'Elsewhere.'" Our human commitments (perplexities!) around belief also point to borders whether we cross them or not. The phrase, "like this," also questions the boundaries of our dauly meanings. Perhaps even our most ordinary, everyday experience is rife with borders; does not birdsong always call us to crossing to a new place? Awaken us from our usual inertia and call us elsewhere, call us, finally, home.