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 at the etiquette of entry

on how one travels
the subterranean way to its core

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