At The Edge of Things


photo courtesy of

Where affords the best of views
The edge of a woodland yawns
To the spiders of the wind, cotton-hard
Caressing where one is stretched
Between trees and skies;
And the edge of the land breaks
In the trembling of the waves
Bring in and haul off
Between mud and crystal, strands
Of both fluid and solid thoughts;
And the edge of the world,
Which is to say at oneself’s brink
Is one man’s imagination,
Another man’s faith
And still a third one’s crossroads
Where questions of the whatfor and whyfor
Are answers to the whereto and howto
Between the coming and the going.

© 1979 SSJ

Author’s note:

At the edge of things is where the border is. It could be the edge of a skin, or the edge of a cliff, or the edge of a country, or the edge of a thought, or the edge of life itself. Depending on how one prepared for it, it is always a precarious place where one can get harmed or get blessed.

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