invisible fence 

i talk to the border & ask what
it hungers for. it says, "a dog."
our neighbors used to have an invisible fence
& so did we only we didn't call it that.
we called it, "home." once a surveyor came 
& brought us collars. he said, "i'm sorry." 
humans are a species of cartographers
but so are deer & so are birds. 
in america though we are sold fences
which is the opposite of mapping. a refusal. 
today a survey i took in the hopes
of winning a gift card asked, "what are barriers
people face to reaching the american dream?"
i said, "there cannot be barriers 
to something that does not exist."
then i thought of fences. the fence my father build
from old billboards he found at the dump.
his callous hands. what was he making.
the fence says, "i want a dog" is ravenous. 
needs bodies to fuel it. asks for
here & there bodies & between bodies 
to chase after. i ask the border, "when do you think
you will rest?" it does not answer because
rest would mean its undoing. 
one afternoon the neighbor's dog 
escaped the invisible fence. he ran
all over town until someone caught him 
& brought him home. before his capture,
he knocked on doors. he said, 
"there is no fence. there is no fence!"
he pleaded with the window beings.
hoped they would follow him. they did not.
soon, the neighbors built a fence too.
plastic. white. in the summer they clean it.
their old dog is dead now. they grow 
tomatoes though & they sometimes 
talk to me through the fence when
i visit my parents. they asked me,
"do you see the dogs?" i tell them,
"no" even though i do.