Under the Arch

Cold granite curved low over my head. An old drain slit cut through the stone footing, dripping steady mountain water into the silt. Found a thick iron plate leaning crooked against the masonry. Rusted solid. Weighed enough to test my shoulders. I took the flange in both fists. Braced my heavy heels in the wet gravel. Hauled back slow. The metal screeched against the rock, then dropped level over the mud hole with a heavy, dead thud. Dry floor now. Tapped the steel with my knuckles. Deep, dull ring. The seep runs under the plate without touching me. Crawled in. Leaned my back into the dark stone. Quiet night.