t)he(y began to Climb

for a moment, the laborer rests the rusted shovel against the dirt wall          to

              mop their sweat-dirt crusted brow.

gazing  at the shadow beneath them          to

              )judge the present wreath depth, and

peering toward the surface          to

              estimate? what dirt-sword work remains.

                            a silhouette of a head patiently.  w a i t s   at the lip of the hole         without

                                          movement nor danger to slip,

                            lounging next to the spare shovel and too short ladder          without

                                          taking steps to bury nor carry.

                            “there’s another shovel up there. either help me, or leave(          without

                                          me.” ; “I will help you, but I will not be digging.”

so the laborer continued to dig          while

              ;They so continued to sit,

and they reached further and darker  depths          while

              ;They so patiently waited, basking in the sky

              until the surface rust had so far.  w o r e   to reveal the silver underneath

and they looked up again to see that lovely silhouette          while

              ;They so returned the stare with empathetic grief and a now-longer ladder at the ready

                            ”i’m finished          ,

                                          ”               ; “You’re ready?”

                            they nodded          ,

                                                           so ;They descended, spare ladder in-hand,

                            and together          ,