A Few Lines
A FEW LINES In mostly pleasant places, these boundary lines of mine, if increasingly, of late, showing more true t o their root— to bind— than, say, to bound, like a deer, if you catch what I'm nosing toward here. You get the gist: never more sure it’s the other hue you want than after this one’s on the wall, the last exit glistening with clean rest rooms a quarter-mile past the sign. All in all, chalk this as another voice j oining the bawl of the neighborhood dogs checking out each other's digs at the end of the drive. It's fine. Our collars aren't even charged! Just the lot of us faithfully tethered to a freedom we can't escape from.