Good Fences

... a brief look at boundaries, and neighborly understanding

I cannot fix the stakes
to mark the border, out there in the water
where what is merely traveling
fast, against the current
should stop
cannot say what
the true price
of reticence
might be;

here, at the thick edge
of the marshland,
my feet sink, with squeeky ribbons of mud
shouldering-up between my toes
so measurement becomes
impossible
in any real sense,
and We are thrown back
against the moss-covered hut
of objects and small thoughts
and Our inescapable need
to trust each other

there must be an understanding
between neighbors,
a deep sense of regard
and a certain belief
that you would never
knowingly
drop a tree on my
land.