Some lines lead us to somewhere, some lines stop us in our tracks.

Some lines round us up in a circle, some cordon us out in the cold.

Some welcome us back into the fold, some thrust us deep into the battle.

Some lines appear as faults and cracks, some lines lead us to somewhere.

The walls and borders in our heads define our territories, set our limits.

They draw the line between you and me, the possibilities of a shared story.

Like the binary lines of train tracks, together

four feet or so apart, parallel on course

along a lone path after hours and routes

And yet not once each other they’ve met.

There are lines to draw and so to divide, there are some that we have to cross.

There are lines written on forehead and sky, there are some that suddenly end.

There are lines that stretch, twist and bend, there are some we must memorize.

There are lines in corners as feet of crows, there are lines to draw and so to divide.

The walls and borders in our heads, we must break through and go beyond.

Outside of the box, over the barriers, closed-minded, we fall; open-eyed, we stand.

As the binary lines of train tracks, I sure bet,

Do dream of iron and steel up in the clouds,

Slowing, fumbling, derailing in a universe

Of timeless arrivals and departures, and forever and ever.

So, we long for lines that weave and touch and kiss,

Without sacrificing lives of machine and beast.

That encircle without leaving one in, one out.

Lines that circulate and keep everyone in the loop.

That hold history for all and not just for a group.

Lines that make the world not flat, but round,

Welcoming everyone in the run and the feast.

So, we long for lines that weave and touch and kiss.

For if we don’t try, don’t risk, don’t meet,

We stay strangers two words or so apart in a crowd.

Parallel worlds in a web that traps, and not gathers,

A million binary lines of human tracks in some random order.

Jay Gallera Malaga