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At the Un-National Monument
along the Canadian Border
by William Stafford

This is the field where
the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier
did not die.
This is the field where
grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing
is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings
across the open.
No people killed—
or were killed—
on this ground
hallowed by neglect
and an air so tame
that people celebrate it
by forgetting its name.

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