She’s stayed close by, mole-girl,
digging tunnels in the way she’s been carefully shown.
Light-blind, she reaches out scoop-hand by scoop-hand
tracing home routes anew from below.

I come home above ground, shadow-cheeked and dirt-poor,
with one notebook and a string in my hand.
Fumbling, I reach for the switch in the dark,
untuck the end of the fluffy white comforter.
Within moments, I am asleep with light on, bare hands splayed,

my grimy feet free.