(For my friend, J.)
Why put up a fence
between two houses
whose occupants have the same last name?
In more than
a thousand square meter expanse
where grass extends as one carpet
below your feet
where each tile over your head
is the same carve
as an identical twin
a fence would only be a nuisance
to eyes spanning the length
of a Victorian abode.
From left to right in panorama
there should be no boundary
cutting across the congruent stretch.
Shouldn’t there be the same type of bushes,
the same shade of bougainvilleas,
the same number of orchids and dancing ladies
in uniform pots
that carry soil from a common ground?
There will be no fence, my friend,
to shield yourself
from the oneness that insists.
So, step inside and lock the door
whose every grain is in the likeness
of the other,
shut the windows
and be free.