Digging to the Center of the Earth

This shovel digs into dry dirt
breaking up old forgotten earth
forcing resurrection
out of spade-metal,
Eden's dust,
November's chill.

Warmth and chill rise from the ground -
bare skin peeking out from
scarf-cracks and mitten-holes -
circling upwards
(the holy and terrifying,
fear and trembling),
lifting over the misty equinox.

Above this, the room to breathe
free and warm,
the strength to grasp light
and not fear the chill,
the time to live and love
beyond trepidation,
the place to see beyond the deep
and not tear up with flying dust,

the grace to let the underground pulse emerge
and yet walk away un-scarred.