The Descent

Finding the entrance is easy, any farmboy
shooting rabbits will sooner or later step
on ground that gives. There's no trick, just keep
going down the jagged slope. Enjoy
descent for its own sake, the narrow pass
that hasn't shifted since death himself took over,
ages ago, the cushion of mud that covers
your tracks. No one above suspects trampled grass.

You must do it alone. The only treachery
comes from hanging rocks and unseen refuse,
harder than stone, left by other lovers.
The river is so pure, you might confuse
it with her song, or soul, or other rivers
that flow between your words and what they signify.

Copyright © 2003 Leonard Kress All rights reserved
from Orphics
The Kent State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission