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.

About sandstarsblog

wild reader. writer in the wild. technologist at work. not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in collection: at the edge of things, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply