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Digging

I began the day we first met. Pebbles clattered. 
I picked and hacked, my mud-spattered mattox.

The first layer of earth was smooth, cool, compact;
hard to break. Once breached,
easy to up-heave.

The second layer, malleable;
my pick penetrated in even sweeps.

The third, a clay core; 
years spent mining,
I reached the heart,
bipolar as a planet.

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