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.”