What grows in my sanctuary garden?
Kudzu, moss, and pine trees?
Fields of thistle as far as the eyes can see?
Perhaps it’s the only place glaciers don’t melt.
Walking into this tundra’s the greatest I’ve ever felt!
Better than pricking myself on thorn wreaths,
or being given the vine-induced, ankle-grabbing creeps.
Here, when I become bare,
exposure will grant me
the only means of sleep.