Jstuby, "Vernal pool at the top of Enchanted Rock, Texas," 1998
We’re nothing but, and nothing if not, bounded. Skin touch air, bee on petal, a water strider riding surface tension— we delineate self through a land of this not that, edges so important some get their own names: the vermilion border, an ecotone, a scarp. It’s summer on the Llano Uplift, and sweat stings my eyes, blurs every bit of borderland. The hard shapes the hawk sees soften, become permeable, interpenetrate—lost in an edgeless place, I forget all my names.