Words.

Imaginative Space
Nothing dared move in that room.
The white-washed furniture
leaving barely any space for seperate movement,
or distance apart.
The drawn flower-print curtains
threw a shroud of Eden over.
The orange vest hung on the
cupboard door headless to watch,
but the dolls were able to,
and did, through the clear glass
from within their cabinet,
only peering over the foot
of the bed.
Mr and Miss Teddy were flung together
onto that chair in the corner,
and then a white towel flung over
them, hiding them away.
There in that imaginative space,
nothing else moved,
nothing else happened.

Excavation Work
Early in the morning, the engines roar
to life, the excavation machine ready,
poised, the worker at the controls
manipulating its tracked feet and
single, lone arm.
The irregular hits into the ground,
sometimes digging,
sometimes drilling,
pounding,
or even barely scratching at the surface.
The engine still keeps rumbling on alive,
conjoining with the abrasive sounds of
the excavation work.
The worker brings the machine through
hard and soft rock,
mounds of earth,
wet and dry, these conditions all
affecting the process of the work.
Finally the hole will be complete,
six-feet deep,
the excavation machine standing at the
edge of the grave,
its engine switched off,
the excavation work over.