I rushed in, dropped everything, read your note:
It said, “I’ve gone to find out about the mole God.”
Then the phone went. When I’d finished talking,
I thought of you, setting off in your safari hat,
crawling through all those tunnels – then stopping,
wondering if you were looking in the right place,
if the ground above was mole-equivalent to sky.
Instead of clouds you’d gaze at trees or traffic lights.

I read the note again, this time turned the page:
It said, “I’ve gone to find out about the mole God
put on my back! We’ll need to talk about it later.”
I think you already know where the mole-god lives.
You’re staring in its face. I wish you could’ve found
something brown and velvety, crowned with glory.

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