The patrol of the borderguard,
Foot-steps in line with the perimeter,
That holds all of ‘us’ close.
Wind sweeps away the evidence,
Of the past path walked.
The tiny particles of castles fallen catch the echo,
And muffles the message-in-bottled-air trying to escape.
Soldier on, with eyes on the horizon that never fades,
Alert eyes yearning for even a mirage.
Circle back and forth by pressing forward,
Catching up with where one might have been.
Press on with the inertia of sacred duty,
Guarding the secrets that lie buried under the Inbetween.
The rifle, rusted from the thought of rain,
Holds but one bullet too many.
The sun and the moon rise and fall,
Never completely here nor gone,
But peeked and poised just over the dunes.
Trace the boundary where the shadow stops,
Or the light leaps,
Split into watchman and watched-man.
The sands of time lift up on the urge of sighs,
Falling back into place with magnetic compulsion.
Tentative steps carry the plight away,
Far from the view of either side.
The borderguard falters,
A burden weighing his legs like boulders:
To step forward or to fall into the comfort of either side?
The Borderguard
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