The border
of a thing.
Its edge
or hem.
The selvage,
the skirt,
a perimeter's
trim.
The blow
of daylight's
end and
nighttime's
beginning.
A fence
or a rim,
a margin,
a fringe.
And this:
the grim,
stingy
doorstep
where
the lapse
of passage
happens.
That slim
lip of land,
the liminal
verge
that slips
you past
your brink.
Where
and when
you
blink.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem