wendell says there are no unsacred places,
only desecrated ones, but i don’t know
what desecration looks like in the wild.
is it bombed buildings and landmined beaches,
ring-barked trees and fields sown with salt?
is it the graffitied walls of the power substation?
the monument built from blood, sweat and propaganda?
the graveyard of broken dreams?
or is it the electric yellow pawnshop on the corner
where, once upon a time, green wheat turned to gold
in the late summer sun?
