Jump.

BOUNDARIES

There is a place where the town ends

and the fields begin.

It’s not marked but the feet know it,

also the heart, that is longing for refreshment

and, equally, for repose.

Someday we’ll live in the sky.

Meanwhile, the house of our lives is the world.

The fields, the ponds, the birds.

The thick black oaks—surely they are the

children of God.

The feistiness among the tiger lilies,

the hedges of runaway honeysuckle, that no one owns.

Where is it? I ask, and then

my feet know it.

One jump, and I’m home.

Mary Oliver