Beneath the floorboards of this old house
a young man named Nick, a genius with pipes
and fittings, has wedged his slender self

between the dirt on which the foundation rests
and the old redwood planks that form its base.
He’s a spelunker, his boss says admiringly

as we stand in the basement looking at Nick
pretzeled into the womb of this old house.
His headlamp shines on the work before him,

his body cradled into a graceful U. This literal
cave man alone is worth the enormous cost
of this project, though I again ask myself,

Why replumb a century-plus old house
while this noble experiment in democracy,
the house on which we all stand, seems

to be crumbling? There’s no guarantee
that it will withstand what I fear is coming.
On the other hand, guarantees are for new cars.

We’ve never had a warranty on survival.
And we cannot know exactly what’s coming
our way. Meanwhile, beneath the floorboards

of this old house, a spelunker—who showed
me photos on his phone of magnificently
water-carved caves that he and friends explored

over the weekend, less than 100 miles from here—
jigsaws his way through the old pipe to install
the new. My feet detect the vibrations as I walk

through what I think of as home, praying that
it might withstand such a massive reformation
of its innards, that all this will ultimately

bestow new magnificence, adding to
the previous artistry, that things unknown,
being undertaken in darkness, are somehow

exactly what needs to be done.

•••

For Nick Heath and his colleagues and bosses at Drain Time Plumbing
with my admiration for their skill and my thanks for their speedy work
and kind understanding.