Beneath the Surface

I stopped by a manhole, cracked like old skin,

a whisper of secrets, the hum of the din.

Rain pooling around it, a mirror to stare,

into the depths where the city’s laid bare.

Each thud from below thrums a message in code,

as if lives underneath share the burden of load.

I pause, feel the tremor, imagine the flow—

what stories are buried, what roots have to grow?