We have felt the gentle pressing of time
Its palms on our chests.
Together hand in hand we breathed in sync
Against the weight,
Plotting our escape,
Breaking the molds man made for us,
And carving out a new caverns in the clay
Flooding them with joy,
Recasting our forms, in stranger poses.

One day we will be too weak
to carve,
We will step back to admire
our work:
Our caverns,
Carved
Over years
So deep.
Sweeping sculptures
left behind.
The pressure of the earth above,
pressing down
again.
And the press won't feel
as gentle.
We will
be tired,
too weak
to breath
against it.

It's ok.

Holding
Hands
We will
Sink
Into
The
Earth.