They’re paving our street,
smoothing a layer over a crusty, cracked road
that covers some dirt and stones,
that cover a layer of bedrock that lays
over the mantle, that lays over the core of the earth.
Canyons prove the layers;
mountains disrupt them unpavably.
How complex is a human being,
the strata of memories, urges, fears and living things?
Archaeologists date their findings
by how deep down they are,
layers beneath layers.
A bump in the kitchen floor in an old house
marked where the linoleum was laid
over a nail head that wasn’t flattened
that still, from under, announced itself.
No doubt you’ve seen a seedling
crack the macadam.
Psychologists get paid by the hour
to uncover things that have gone deep:
in effect, they’re paid by the layer,
undoing all that pavement.
My thoughts are paved over
with asphalt words,
my feelings re-surfaced.
What you see has been steamrolled…
while deep beneath
September 3, 2020