Bandits

They made a mountain

out of dirt,

crumble slopes

to flat plateau

with tread prints

all around

but no machines

in sight –

and there it sat,

fenced in

setting, hard

from all the chills

and locked up

so that nobody

could conquer it.

After all, who

would want to jump

that fence, rip

their pants,

bear crawl up

sending avalanche of dirt

and dust rocks

down the side?

The base spreads

towards the fence –

a dance, up on top

took place:

boot/sneaker

prints erasing tire tracks

of bull dozers, now

they lead back

over cold iron fence (as

tarp shivers in wind)

and take

the mountain away

bit by bit

inside their shoes;

bandits

of the Earth,

spreading dirt

like it was love.