Ground

It’s not an object really,
The strip of blue atmosphere
At the top of the window,

A lot of waves not a wave,
All those points without a point.
It is framed and circumscribed,

Which suggests, appealingly,
Art, games, all things that are not
Things except in that they’re bound

And bordered, which creates them.
To be crossable, to have sides,
To be finite and made whole.