Graydiggers Home

 Paw marks near one burrow show Graydigger
at home, I bend low, from down there swivel
my head, grasstop level--the world
goes on forever, the mountains a bigger
burrow, their snow like last winter.
 From a room
inside the world even the strongest wind
has a soft sound: a new house will hide
in the grass; footsteps are only the summer people.


The real estate agent is saying, "Utilities .
 .
 .

easy payments, a view.
" I see
my prints in the dirt.
 Out there
in the wind we talk about credit, security--
there on the bank by Graydigger's home.

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