The ones who marked me hate me,
their forms are tangling the fence
I've made on a high border,
foot soles slapping long subway steps,
eyes inked into a cracked foundation,
hat bands feathered low on their understanding kites,
scars laid out in plaster that have mapped their way,
back tattoos that replace a sky's chunk of spine
hook deep in the gelatin that is left
and the celestial weave.