I went walking in the mountain-rocks,
picking up every bone I saw,
carrying them carefully home.

Every fencepost that I passed,
spoke its frame in sweat and hard, scraped hands,
bought with darkened, tenant skin.
Fences dividing the world into owners and occupants
(fences connecting you and me:
fences our birthright and our thievery).

I strung a necklace of teeth for you,
laid it on your collarbones
while you were sleeping in the dusk.

The adorning story sharp, and thorny,
miles of fences stretching farther than eye (or I) can see.