This is a place because I call it one.
No, this is a place because I am standing
somewhere, in it. The place doesn’t need
anyone. If it relaxes into ruin, so what,
any dirt can become mud, and a lake
can become snow. The place is always
changing independent of what I want.
Also, it takes my ropes around its neck,
trying to bring it home with me. It only
tugs back a little, shaking its head to say
This is a place. This is a place. This is a place.