Though every nation’s shape must be unique,

The outline of Ukraine attracts our gaze.

A sense of the vulnerable protrudes

From this quiet space, once so short on hate.

This is where fear comes in; borders store

Culture, landscape, language and traditions,

Encircling the rich plains of history.

More than that, they preserve our memories,

Of sunny dreams, glistening on water.

And yet, in their simplest form, they are lines,

Drawn casually on our map of movements.

They can be crossed, ignored, even laughed at,

And no one will care unless it suits them.

Territory, even counted in the abstract,

Is all we have and is all that matters.

Today, it is our shape that we defend.