The poem which gave it’s name to (both) my blog(s)

Looking Underneath

I yearn for green moss –
Gaiman’s smell of damp leaf mould.
The poise and promise in fleshy puffballs
under Cochrane’s Bridge
and the startle
of a snapping twig
in an Irish autumn –

– the cool underneaths of things

Deep under there,
I hid a dark
well of doubt.

But now there
flows a bright spring.