subterranean

the ocean stretched quiet and dark.
what happened underwater nobody
could see.i saw a woman walking
in a straight line, she went right inside
and i didn’t see her come out.
it could have been a man, maybe the man
in whose soul she lived like a nail.
wounds scar, heal, i can see, touch, feel.
the sea took her unmovingly, and her
disappearance was complete.
i felt no God present but an unforgiving universe
and night.
and the tides, waves coming in and going out,
again and again and again.

does the river return to its source, does the water
have a choice, pushed from behind, flowing forwards
until it joins the ocean.
i am a river, you are.

at the same time the rats and moles and worms
kept busy underground, shovelling the same piece
of earth over and over, building tunnels
later to be taken by snakes and insects.
there was no immediate sense to be seen,
it was just what they did. i think the enlightenment
of rats and moles must be minimal, it is just in doing
what they do. are we different in our subterranean
efforts and struggles?
we keep busy even in not doing anything but
we imagine that to bring dirt into light
will transform us. but it brings only dirt into
the light. maybe what we do with it is meaningful,
we can do pottery work, make little voodoo dolls
and stick needles into them or dress them up
in white and kiss them. then-what?
one wrong move, they fall and break and
nobody is any  wiser or happier.
past is past and night is night and voodoo is not
necessary.