That night we all had our dreams.
Border of weeds
Border of two-bit rocks and thistle
Border of pigeons with their thick necks bobbing
as if they could point out where our feet
should stumble next
Border of concrete wall, angled high under the overpass
Border of tangy smog, a musty shirt
pressed against my breath
border of summer nights
Border of cricket chirps, plastic bags sweeping up
dirt along the intersection of Madison Street
and somewhere else I call home—
Say the Tennessee-Kentucky border
Say the Cumberland River
Say the other side of you