I dig
Carefully
These days.
Spade turns
Over, brings
Up empty
Fears; fills
Holes in the
Sweet, dark
Ground.
Trowel
Tamps,
Ever so
Slightly,
Smoothing
Sullen,
Dampened
Soils;
Pressed-in
Firm, they
Escape my
Handy
Touch.

rjw, 2/11/03