Let us stop here, begin again. The torch has gutted out light & darkness brightens its eyes over the place. This is the place, the secret. The dirt is near, just a few feet deep. It is waiting, enclosed, a time capsule that will reveal bone. Draw close & peep, unsee through the curtain of your eyelids; your slick palm holds on but pull the weight of the stone. Put your shoulder to it. Can you hear its colossal stillness? Can you feel its rigid solitude? We must move within that hole to the other side. This is the place. Now dig. Begin again around the stone's root. Dig until the land falls from your fingers in clots. Dig until you're a riverine swamp, animal peeping from under black water. Stop! We've reached bedrock. Push the rod deep into the wound. Let it light the place with its cold fire. Let the fire run licking all over the stone so it can shiver awake & clear the path. This is the place. Now push. We are the tide coming in. The night carries across the wild. Something can hear us breathe. Push! Strain against it like sails against wind. Let your muscles whine unhinged from your bone. Push! It stirs. It raises its head & looks about. It rises & walks still covered in cobwebs. Look at that. Just look at that. A hole, black mouth beckoning us & we must go. We must begin again. What we have come to waken here knows no sleep.
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