Bones

Another day
But space is short,
I'm sure, I have dug here before
as I cut deeper,

In to, this dead earth.

The mix of soil
the layers do not conform
torn and twisted,
swirling, like coffee mixed cream.

As I slice away
the dead earth

The feeling is near,
as I crack the last remains
I almost hear, those groans

As I awake the sleeping Bones.