beneath the treaded rubber tire
and below the painted asphalt,
under the gravel-sand substrate
children creep and quietly listen
to the echoey sounds of the surface
descending to meet them in the dark;
falling to the rounded concrete black
where shadows are the brightest things
and heartbeats are drums in the depths.

this is our hidden place
this is our script
this is our secret space
this is our crypt