Limits Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Freedom of limit is a hesitant subject to write about, yet
here it is.

What are boundaries of speculative enterprises? Are they
begun in circles of abundance and carried from there?

Or do they get their start from closed-lid boxes, tossed
about, getting inner traces, listed on some invisible horizons.

Squarely single, hanging on threads of threatened knowledge,
limits are bound to exacting qualifications, or have they the
freedom given to no other entity for the purpose of corralling
innermost quiescence?

How are the arrangements made for settling into depths not
crossed by any other's presence?