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There's a shovel suspended
Above a patch of dirt
In the back yard.
This is not because of the
Tornado outside.
The tornado means nothing
by its existance.
It is just lonely and
Without a home.
The wholeness of the wind
Cannot unify the air.
Two conflicting airs had
Formed a downward spiral
But it is merely a lonely tornado
Without a home.
There is still a shovel suspended
Above a patch
In the back yard.
There is no grass now,
But a mound of dirt.
This is not an earthquake.
The night is too calm.
The city moved to
The clouds.
Cars ride above,
But cannot be heard here,
And cannot see here.
The dead sleep peacefully
Behind doors in the house,
There is no anxiety.
The roads cover the sun,
To make welcomed the reaper.
He is not here to kill me.
There's a shovel suspended
Above a mound of dirt
In my back yard.
I am to do the work.
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