A hole that happens in the earth
offers us instead of sunlight
darkness, so we duck beneath
the overhang, and enter the mouth
of solid stone. We lose our sight
and find each other’s hand as if
connected we could make it freely
through a mountain’s spleen, as if
interlocking fingers were enough
to make us shine and make us see.
We go as far as we can go
in darkness, then turn around
and look for a familiar glow,
and when we find it somehow
we let go of each other’s hand.
About the author:
Jim Richards’ poems have been nominated for Best New Poets 2015, two Pushcart Prizes, and have appeared recently in Prairie Schooner, South Carolina Review, Juked, Comstock Review, Poet Lore, and Texas Review. He lives in eastern Idaho’s Snake River valley, and in 2013 he received a fellowship from the Idaho Commission on the Arts.