Ocean is where I find you. You return me to the womb, the first watery world where we met. Your rip currents pull me in, metamorphose me into a sea-going creature: all fin and fluke.  You are high tide, glistening on my smooth skin. You wave your white flags of spume across the sand, but I am the one who surrenders. I follow you to the horizon.    This is the other place we always meet: at the border. The aperture between worlds—where secrets that cannot be seen from one shore are unearthed. Here, I see a river can join two countries like sky and sea. And the vanishing point can be where two cultures—twin tributaries—disappear into one body. Here, contradiction blazes hotter than the evening sun seeping into the deep. Afloat in the center, I balance the feuding flares. I am at home in this beauty that bleeds. And you remind me that I am borderless. This is when I find you: in flame and fern, wind and pine, stone and tern. I become porous. This is when I emerge with abandon.