Fence (Poetry)

I am building a fence and I am
                                        measuring, measuring, measuring
I’m measuring where the posts should be
                                        and how high
I’m digging holes and the damp, dark earth
                                        is crumbling, crumbling, crumbling
I’m finding roots and stones and worms —
things that haven’t seen the light of day
                                                until now

And I’m thinking, thinking, thinking how
                                                this changes things
The small lives ruined for the sake of mine
A bold, black beetle crawls across my shoe
                                                in slow protest
I watch him go imagining
                                him grumbling, grumbling, grumbling —
homeless and no offered compensation

The winter sky complains and quite suddenly
                                                it’s raining, raining, raining
like all nature is petitioning —
asking me repeatedly drop by drop by drop
and I listen to the reasoning — all those voices
in the wind and trees whispering
                                why I need to stop

Now I’m filling — filling in the holes
and gently patting back the earth —
replacing roots and stones and worms
restoring them to damp and dark
and feeling quite light-headed
though my arms are aching — aching
                                        from the toil
but my mind is waking — waking up ...

I realize how a fence would spoil the view