Boundary Song

A Poem by Ernest Hilbert

The walls you touch are real; within, a feel
Of pure annihilation—bones and sky.
You’re here alone. This is the only place
To go. You don’t know why you came to kneel 
Before the marble marker. You don’t know why
Its cold is comforting, empty as space.
It holds the thrill of unbearable height
On depths you know to fear. And here you’re left. 
This is the only thing that is the case: 
It’s held so long for you. It bears a heft
Of emptiness, some oldness—recovered traces 
Incised in stone or inked on maps unread.
It isn’t here, but it is the final site,
Night divided on a single line of red.

---

---

Ossian's Grave, John MacWhirter, c. before May 1882

---