Buried

(January 1969)



Roofed by the roots of trees,

he lies;

earth and stone like a blanket

fallen over a sleepers face.




The low tunnel ends in smooth wall,

windowless, each brick firm

and meticulously placed;

the discovery admitted,

he sprawls

deaf to those many nights

when he would lie listening

through hours of drum-beat darkness.




What use now, to burst through

enclosing strata

into black night air,

where roots of stars protrude

from the sky's freezing void.




Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved