The field has a boundary both far and near. The western edge is lined
with trees. The northern line is edged with palms and streetlights on poles
at night. The southern limit hosts a mesquite tree for boat-tailed grackles
a landing. On this eastern border I reside like a potentate counting golden petals
on a field
of ragwort. But over all the field, there beyond all horizons, is the Sky ... unbounded.