Second Earth

There is another earth
beneath.
Between.

I know my way
from here
into it;

chainlink rolled back
in scrolls of rust,

dusk
pouring in;

late rain
cold upon the branches

and leaves that push against the passage

the smell

of mud
and slickened
tie plates
in the stillness

of shouts that go
unsounded.

These unnamed Sundays
Are an unstemmed tide again,

Unanswered questions
spilling the banks,

Lineless horizons.

Unbutton
your shirt,
even though it's cold.

Wash, shave.

Pour what you call hope
into the ending age.