I live at the borderlands,

between mountain and grassland,

river and sea.

Here, vultures gyre above the hollows, high

as the peaks

in gliding circles,

where death meets light

and darkness greets the sun.

I live the in-between,

not expected, not sane, full

in constant emptying,

I rise as others fall, gather while

the confused lose.

Accompanying all, I am ever ready

to catch the tender hand

finally opened

by life.

I can not be held,

you will never be without me.

In cracks cursed for tripping you up,

that’s my nestling place.

I can not be found where money buys me, nor

in the thing anyone else swears will conjure me–

but my laughter will.

Eventually,

you will feel within

the kindness in those peals

and the years of loss, confusion, pleading

shall mulch the most fertile ground

you could set restful, strong,

willing roots into.

Welcome the borderlands,

for in them I dwell

ungraspable.