Fragments in the Soil
Recordings hum of materials worn,
Echoing lives once vibrant, now torn.
A farmer stands, her shadow bent,
Metal seed shovel, her silent lament.
She pours the remnants, fractured and bare,
Onto the back of a figure laid there.
A living table, motionless and true,
Upon black soil that stretches the view.
No illusions, no glimmering light,
Only raw existence in the moon's cold sight.
The earth consumes each broken shard,
A quiet release from memories scarred.
This tableau unfolds with solemn grace,
A haunting juxtaposition of form and space.
The shovel speaks in a hollow clink,
As soil swallows what time can't shrink.
The night bears witness, its shadows ignite,
Truths unburied beneath starlight's might.
Fragments linger, yet they find their place,
A mosaic bound by earth's embrace.
