A voice/vision I heard/imagined. The shards of glass are reminiscent of Richard Wilbur's poem "Junk".
I look at the wasteland,
And I see nothing but a wasteland.
There are wastelands everywhere.
All I see are wastelands.
Plain ground, plain sky
And nothing in between.
Plain floor, plain wall,
Plain face, plain mind,
All is plain and empty.
There is nothing there.
Don't even try too look.
In the wasteland, there are sparkles from shards of broken glass
Reflecting the dry sun.
There are fingers of grass sticking through cracks in the asphalt,
Until a man returns to poison them.
The plain floor and the plain walls
And another, - you -,