beneath every land,
is something precious
that we have buried.
something, we have been
trying to forget.
something we no longer want
the responsibility to take care of.

so, instead
we pass it onto the soil

i have found
insects crawling
in my garden,
made homes for them
similar to mine,
and ended up
openly burying them
after leaving them
in merciless disregard.
and i wonder
if it’s the same
with possessions
being buried in cabinets.

for i have seen
and have lived,
articles and chattels
growing silently in obscurity.
as if being lifeless
is an unforgivable sin,
too.