Threadbare Boundary

The chain-link sags, a rusted grey,

a weak, old barrier in the sun.

It keeps some things inside, they say,

and marks where other lives have run.

Each diamond gap, a window small,

a peek-through to the other side.

A vine, green tendrils, starts to crawl,

no longer content to just abide.

It threads its way, a living stitch,

through rusted wire, a careful, slow

invasion, without a single hitch,

where boundaries soften, start to go.

The metal bites, a tiny pain,

but still the green keeps pushing through.

What holds us back, what we restrain,

can always find a path anew.