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border and light
Folder:
tidying poem
Border and Light: A Dialogue Poem
Kenneth: The border is not a line,
but a wound that will not close.
Frederick: Yet even wounds drink light,
a shimmer across the scar’s edge.
Kenneth: Exile is a map written in ash,
names erased by the wind.
Frederick: But the wind carries seeds too,
and in drought,
a single green-shoot rises.
Kenneth: History is a silence pressed into stone,
a fracture no tongue can mend.
Frederick: Still, the stone glows at dusk,
and shadows teach us how to see.
Kenneth: I walk the borderlands,
a witness to fracture and forgetting.
Frederick: I walk with light in my hands,
to remind the forgotten
they are not alone.
