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he has spent too long
in the sad lands of bare hills
and wants the heart of spiraland
today he chances upon its opening –
strong stone walls
arcing away into the hill
majestic and silent
and thrills to its dark breath
standing at the ancient mouth
in a bludgeon of summer heat
he looks at the hill
sees as though for the first time
its dusty surface
its smooth contours vaguely
yet unmistakenly
married to the coiled internal form
and wonders on the etiquette of entry
on how one travels
the subterranean way to its core
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