Ghost Wells

This thin skin of old crust
Is riddled with digging,
Your world of idled wells.

They sag and are noxious
Holes to the underworlds
Holding the resources

People drilled and tunneled
To claw through time to get—
Water, metals, gems, oil—

Any goods from the depths.
All old wells are like this,
Valuable, poisonous,

Cholera-handled pumps
In swarming city squares,
Rustic stone rings in moss,

Abandoned oil derricks.
Anything might come up,
Climb out, invisible,

Faceless life, faceless death.
Any word, any text,
A scratched brick, a road sign,

Carves with an acid drill
Down through layers of years,
Eating into the world

As it ages, until
What’s carved can serve as well
For ghosts to crawl back up.