A rounding rush of wood and steel,
Flat metal rings off rock; sparks fly.
The old man’s pickaxe cuts a gash;
Earth splits, its secrets to confide.
Roots whisper, soil presses near
Their lover’s touch in dark remove.
Frottage of fiber, dirt, and damp
This midnight world all green above.
Then in the tear he makes a bed;
With fingers smudged, tucks in a tree.
He nurses, coddles, vigil keeps,
Awaiting nature’s chemistry.
Ed Dalton first ferried to Martha’s Vineyard in the late 1970s when he rented a bicycle, rode the Island, and stayed at the West Tisbury Hostel. He, his wife Elizabeth, and their three daughters, Kate, Kara, and Lauren came to spend many, wonderful summers here. They reside in Framingham.