It begins broken, like a lame horse.
It begins seemingly suddenly, although the reasons
are in the background, complicated,
like a sneeze in sunlight or hunger pangs.
It begins with words buckling, becoming bloody,
infected, too large to swallow back in.
It begins as grass is trampled, fields filled with fire,
borders ignored.
It begins solemn and then turns fierce.
When it begins, privacy becomes memory:
neighbors can hear children next door crying,
everyone sees who hunts for garbage food
during nights, we all hear who is saying
what an every heart then hurts.
It begins as men with nothing to lose lie.
It begins and it seems it will never end,
this longing for land to penetrate, pull from,
this craving to beat a new map,
to beat the people who call that place home.