A priest picks and shovels
Dirt at Saint Michael's,
Digging in the courtyard.

Next door at Carlsbad Shores,
A woman is young again
Standing at her window.

Beyond the resthome,
A waiter silverwares tables
For the lunch crowd

At Fresco's Ristorante.
We are all responsible
For something, some calling

To soften the hours
After the morning news.
The priest shovels

Balls of red earth
Home to dandelions.
Pink and yellow roses

Wait to be transplanted.
How much of us
Has been uprooted, excavated,

Replaced by charming
Blooms? The woman
Remains at her window.

She is watching
The clouds build mountains
Over the sea.