The edge of the world is diffuse.
There is no edge to water.
There is no point to air.
I refuse to believe in borders.
Rivers don’t run straight and
Neither does your blood.
Suppose I fell in love with you.
Trees, I think, are sentient, or,
At least, communicate.
Answers are found on forest floors
By the ancient readers - ants
And beetles, the squirrels, the
Low birds that nest in enigmatic
Language. I don’t ever want to
Lose you. That place where meadow
Meets grove, or where that crooked
River flows deep into oceanic skies.
There is no sharpness - just the
Tang of life cutting me into orchids.
Jonathan Shipley was born and raised in the shadow of Mount Rainier in Olympia, Washington and now lives in Seattle.