WHERE

(Found here)

These visions. Some might say I saw them
because I read poetry and became
disposed to astonishment. Some might say
because I was disposed to astonishment
I read poetry. The two parties might debate
cause and effect, chicken and egg. In fact,
no one will say anything. This poem will rest
undisturbed, one of the few things in the world
left respectfully not-dug-up. Like woods
in central Maine, virgin because too remote
to be exploited. Like a stream in Ohio
where industry collapsed, so the water went
fresh again. Like a boy whose parents don’t care
where he gets to. The useless is there and continues.
On economically unviable steeps of rock,
under far evergreens, the mountain potentilla
that once I saw still grows. In my looking at it
many years ago...that’s where I am buried.

~A. F. Moritz