Flesh Borders

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