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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Border

It is not a black place
beyond the edge of time.
It is the impossible dimension
of nothing,
which fumbles with strangers
wailing at its wall.
Where fossils put themselves
and close their eyes,
and locks are made without keys
to open them.
It is how we begin and end,
in the blink of an eye.
We rise from an impossible sleep
and begin to die,
a dream
ending in a room full of wind,
blowing through its windows.

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