Boundary

I often arrive at a boundary
   that leaves me at the gate
   at a time to fish or cut bait
   or just wait
   at the border of this or that
   for better or worse
   perform or rehearse
   begin again or end—
   on my mark to there,
   at the finish from where.

And that’s when I need
   some now-or-never word, as when
   Jesus sat with the woman at the well
   waiting for a snarl of men to stone her,
   and reach out to her
   writing something in the sand
   for her for them and wrote again,
   then spoke his boundary-breaking words
   piercing to the bone
   that would kill their will
   and let them all go home.