The police are dragging for the bodies
Of miners in the black waters
Of the suburbs.
Below, some few
Crawl, searching, until they clasp
The fingers of the sea.
Somewhere,
Beyond tipples and drowsing woodchucks,
A strong man, alone,
Beats on the door of a grave, crying
Oh let me in.
Many women mount long stairs
Into the shafts,
And emerge in the tottering palaces
Of abandoned cisterns.
In the middle of the night,
I can hear cars, moving on steel rails, colliding
Underground.
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