Find Me in the Underworld

From the domed ceiling, flows a mass of white stone

In the home of the under-creatures, a watchtower forms

Above a city, a sovereignty, shielded still from the eyes of man

By the ground on which he stands

Unspoiled, by his land of open air

Over lifetimes, filtered from the contents of another world

Hulking and tightly curled, folds in on itself

And sighs with the settling of the body’s limbs

Sleek, as if with rain, the bulk of it rests

In the humid crevices of a giant's lung

Where the hidden hollows of the earth

Sit far beneath your feet

And many feet below