Together
                    
we worked on the road.
Spade
built to fit small hands
moved mounds of dirt,
anthills,
inches,
what seemed like a man's work.
Calloused hands
of his
shifted entire ridges
while dozers woke
and worked
with roars that frightened small ears
standing aside him
an island of comfort,
of safety,
a man's work.

Dreamlike
the picture
brings forward
such tiny memories,
crumbs of life
that carry the immeasurable.

         - James Mitchell