coarse hands collect rocks
filling buckets to the brim
piled in a field of earth's core
form a line
we march across
from daffodils and weathered fence
to the barrier of water's edge
horses run wild in captivity
charging as we lift
we push on
digging now
pulling up sharp secrets
to be formally introduced to the sun
pushing high over the mountains
we tear down trees
uproot their stumps
throwing everything into the hole
all for a tractor
we'll never see
so we cease our once willing efforts
and eat our chili on log benches
opposite the field