Gardening

Outside my house, there is a crane. Much to my disdain. Tearing up my lawn looking for fossils. But is it really worth tearing up my garden that’s full? Tempting, trouble. There are no valuables in the rubble. Only a few spiders which feel frightful. Stealing the nutrients in the soil. I know I can replant soon. Saddened by the dead rose’s tune. I could cook my soup tonight. But the basil was lost in the blight. They knocked over my mailbox too. There’s only junk mail in there, that’s true. They left behind a shovel and brush. I could plant soon, but what’s the rush? I do my own investigation. Into the lush imagination. Might as well continue searching around. They already destroyed the ground. So I continued to dig for weeks on end. Until there was nothing else to upend. A centipede under a stone. Asks if I found a dinosaur bone. Even if I find more than dust and debris? Will I ever feel free? Is there any way to stop fretting? Or stop the sun from setting? One of those maple seeds fell nearby. I wonder why… In this destroyed place. There is no race. There is no grass to live in. So I let it blow into the wind. I wish I could as well… But maybe I’ll just dig a wishing well.