bucolic

going down,
going down
and then down further
to the bottom

where everything
is a smoky gray
to the almost charcoal black
of midnight

down there
where all things
appear lost or
at most forgotten

down there
at the bottom
looking at nothing
while nothing looks
back at you.

down there
feeling my way
along cold, slippery
walls with trembling
fingers

down there
with my head
and my heart
gutted

waiting
for an uncertain
tomorrow