after years of having
too much hard living
shoved down her throat

it had become so steep
any word weaker than a sherpa
couldn’t get out of her

and they all carried
heavy loads
and left a lot of debris

when they reached the summit
and stopped to plant
a triumphant red flag

so it was no surprise
that a lot of people
started taking roads

around her
through
flatter lands

and left her there
in the rarefied air
she couldn’t help breathing

folk wisdom says
a hole dug under a waxing moon
will never take back all the dirt

a hole dug under a waning moon
will always leave a depression
no matter what’s been buried there

clean cut men and women
are coming home with murders in their minds
to stand under moons fogged by city lights

or moons as clear
as broken promises
in the dark skies of small towns

thinking of shallow graves
dug in stony sand
and perfect corners cut in cemetery sod

they stumble through the moonlight
tripping on dips
in the ground before them

some move more unsteadily than others
some fall
face down in overgrown lawns

where the grass grows
longer and lighter
over old holes

some regain
their balance
and go inside

kiss their lovers
hold their children
try to even up the footing

always watching
where
they step

on the moon
holes are
virtually eternal

so few changes
once they’re dug
visible for all to see

no matter the waxing
or waning
of earth

every night
clean cut men and women
stand in the streets

thinking of war on earth
and dreaming of walking
on the moon