men disappear each year, buried by ore, three thousand feet underground these are Montana dads, Montana girls’ lovers up at dawn, in denim for the descent it’s night at all hours oily, crumbling caves, stone icicles frozen mid drip sometimes miners get turned around, dizzy as carousel horses dementia in the dark not knowing the difference up down here home they all go grey underground walls dribbling, steel saliva from an old mouth strapped with single headlights, like trains, fatefully bound a school of Angler fish crawling the abyss reaching, breathing, dreaming of sun when they do, Stillwater glows, a humid womb, waiting for the slightest quake, a stony, shivering shift to send them blind, digging, mountains of miners stumbling through stone.