POEM: Holy

It’s holy because I was born in this place
It’s holy because of the red-meat of sacrifice
It’s holy for the hollow loss
It’s holy because we sanctify it with semen and vaginal juices
It’s holy because we bleed all over it
Because you cannot separate land from sky
Or the tumultuous blue-green of ocean from
The pink of a fresh born child
Or the gray of the grave

It’s holy because we say it is
Because of voice
Because of heart
And the savage wounding we endure.

O – it is holy without priests or prayer
Without faith or sight of any kind.

It’s holy because it commands silence.