neighbor poem

i do not know the names
of any of our neighbors. 
they have little terrarium lives.
i collect brief intimacies:
the woman picking up dog poop
on fridays & the teenage son
blasting music late at night. his match box car
up & out of the driveway. 
the argument between him &
his step father. 
i don't always practice what i preach.
i tell others, "get to know you neighbors."
when i lived in the city, i did know
my neighbors. we talked 
in the apartment hallway
& sometimes on the front steps.
we bitched about the landlord. 
once, i baked lackluster bread
& shared it with the old man
who listened to the radio too loud. 
i try to understand our neighbors.
no american flags which is a relief. no
political signs. which is
a relief. the corn field behind us
like the ruffles of a wild skirt. 
there is so much room to run. another neighbor
has two dogs that sometimes walk out 
in the middle of a winter night.
their shadows run without them.
i have a vision of us all in the field,
walking to the patch of trees. 
what would we talk about? 
i want to know more. about what it means
for us to draw & undraw our borders.
to un-own the land & cradle it. 
we know more of each other 
& less of each other than it seems. 
sometimes their packages are delivered
at my door. i always walk them over. 
consider ringing the doorbell or knocking
on the door. i don't. why don't i?
we become the patron saints 
of the distances. my favorite nights 
are the ones when all our lights are out.
it is like we are sharing a fistful
of dark. the dogs chase each other. 
the stars chew us down to the bone.