A sacred thing

A sacred thing
belongs inside an
igloo, even
underneath an igloo.
I’ve been digging for
these sacred things
but I live far away
from the igloos and
am hoping that
because I’m me
they’ll climb through
wells and oil pipes
and the mouths of
worms to find me
and my hands and
eyes and I will look
at them and belong
to them and be
happy. My thoughts,
the tunnels that these
sacred things have
burrowed in order to
find me here flood
sometimes, with
apprehension.
Sometimes with
blood.