Down here it is always dark.
Murk floats about our legs, and when it rains,
sound we hear drumming above us,
waters rise to our waists
we must climb on subterranean ledges
fear of drowning.
Red ochre sweeps by on a stream of sludge
I sneak away from those who’d keep me below.
I follow the sound of trickling water to its source,
secret place of my own design that looks out
the world above. Darkness not confined
concrete like ours—it’s vast, limitless,
with tiny stars set into the night
jewels
sparkle in the sky
point out the way.
Reaching through the grating,
their darkness,
I plunge my hands.
* * * *
