deep below the surface
past the dirt
the roots
below the unseen life
rests a weary, enchanted mole.
–
the child snickers from underneath her
covers:
“a mole? with magic?”
–
“what’s so unbelievable about that?”
meeting her dark, hidden gaze
–
she erupts from her burrow-
the covers act her cloak-
“well, how come no one’s seen it?”
her hands curl into whiskers.
–
“maybe we have,”
the child’s face melts into a waiting palm,
weariness in, wonder out,
–
“maybe we have,
and we weren’t looking for
hard enough.”
