The Underworld

My pen speaks
for the part of me that has no words,
no voice, no means of coming forward.

Like a magnet
it draws from me
gratitudes, complaints, observations,
even profound wisdoms.

It is my agent, my assistant,
my go-between. It connects
my inner and outer. It reveals
what is hidden, what lies
below.

What might I learn
from the whale, the snake,
the stream, the root,
and anything else that lives down under,
who has no agent,
nor need of one?