for my children because I too often forget:

 

In this fix, stuck fast

between the opening my feet dangle into

and the small space my head has found

my chest and back pressed, breath difficult –

 

I may never make sound again and here I wanted to

connect, say some things, explain but stuck fast,

the moment a rock that gives no ground, so many words,

cavern moths flutter into the shadows and are gone.

 

The pressure builds, the thought

is this the last time we’ll ever talk

and I cannot find the sound, so pressed are my ribs

so difficult to expand the lungs.

 

then the rope, the chisel,

the hammer, a chance; I forget words,

let thoughts as bats hang and sleep in the dark

and use my ears to find the path, I listen.

 

That act we so often forget

as we explore

the ears, the canals, the passage

into the underneath.