the edge of the world

i'm going to the edge of the world,
where all i see is the horizon
no fences
no walls
no buildings
just my feet on the soft brown earth.

and if you care to,
you can come along
and see the sky at last
we can lie on the mountaintop
in the dark dark night
and watch the stars wheel ponderously over us.

in the morning
a lonely eagle spirals lazily, watching
while we run down the side of this mountain
and up the next one
running until we run out of breath
and have to rest in the shade
of a wind-twisted pine.

and you could hold my hand and i could hold yours
and we could just sit there,
catching our breath on the edge of the world,
where all we see is the horizon
no fences
no walls
no buildings
just my hand and your hand
and our feet on the soft brown earth.

and maybe we'd wait there all day
a deer could come visiting, delicately,
and we'd sit there, stiff and still as the tree we sit under,
as careful
as if she were built of glass.

or we could sing together, you and i
a song that i know, a song that you know.
or maybe we'd just talk
sitting together, there, in the shade.

still you could hold my hand and i could hold yours
there
on the edge of the world
where all we see is the horizon
no fences
no walls
no buildings
just my hand and your hand
and our feet on the soft brown earth.

© Elizabeth Klassen 2009