Kentucky blew her dead breath,
coal stars slung in a tornado,
whisked through the barrel of ribs
that brace a miner’s chest.

Drift mouths in the mountains
stand screaming, abandoned as if
ghosts were lodged in their lungs—
long whispered secrets.

A continuous miner—
a rusted machine—falls away,
giving the weight of its bones 
to the ground, to the faithful
pull of time.

Hands traced with the sludge
of sweat and dust in the labyrinth
caverns of their palms reach
for a trusted helmet, one 
guiding light into hell.