The Cellar

The Cellar

The hum that coasters on the wind
rolled off into a distant day
below what might have been a tree
rooted round the cellar walls.
The silver bars that kept roots sound
held the walls from falling down.
They wrapped like limbs of octopus
hugged tight to claim a treasure chest.

Beyond the stairs of rotted branch,
down which I never missed a step,
the night-one called me there to see,
block walls that formed a cave beneath
- beneath the sea.
and there she stood, a little girl
dressed in Sunday school attire,
with nothing there except her eyes
and a door that opened on - into the sea.

My fingers chilled like cycled ring
frozen on a crooked limb,
a cold that crept like spider webs
and tingled at my finger tips.
A wrenched call belched from the pipes;
the belly of a motor moaned.
It tried to speak in children's song
that lit a pergola scene, where ...
soldiers marched onto the shore,
each with a canvas on his back
that kept in time, the beat of sound
in paint of pergola light.

Upon return, I marched cross bones
that marked the path to follow home
back to the cellar neith the tree
where last I'd seen the little girl.
The walls were lined with jars of rocks
and golden fish with glittery fins.
Her footprints lead into the sea
beneath rock beds and broken bow
where tentacles of circles hugged
eternity - until the vessel creaked.