In morning darkness I pull over and watch
the heavy equipment sleeping behind
barbed wire. How yellow and massive
they appear under globes of halogen night lights.
How strong their names: Bulldozer. Excavator.
Knuckleboom loader. Feller buncher. Backhoe.
Row upon row, the peaceful dreams of machines.
The eastern sky glows orange. Soon I will drive
to work, sit in an ergonomic chair
and stare at slender screens of fragile data.
Create money out of feathery air.
Soon they will go to work, too. Move earth
the way we did as children, mud on our hands.