BOUNDARIES

You forget that it ever happened;
don't believe it even though
you read it in a holy book.

Then one day, by the lapping shores,
near dusk, the frogs in chorus,
the insects a perfect hum,

you feel the rising water of your body
strain the banks of your skin
until it flows out of your mouth as a song,

you remember singing as a child
beside your parents, maybe in church,
maybe around a camp fire;

and your voice lifts you, until your steps
do not bend the grass
and the words shift

from something remembered
to something born of the moment,
a spirit, now, too large to be yourself,

as lake water falls from your feet
as you walk a path of notes
hung in the air,

lyrics straight from the core,
ride the steady om of frogs,
the vibrating hum of wings,

of pulsating strings of molecules;
that place where the sun
does not set, and you

are most aware of yourself
as you vanish.


-Kenneth Gurney


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