Digging In His Vault Of Loam Poem by Mark Heathcote

Seldom have I seen a Mole
digging in his vault of loam
his hands unworthy of a prayer
as he lumbers above the earth
meeting starlight the midnight's air.

Heavenwards ever-so-rare
threshing, he makes a dome
St Paul's Cathedral is his home
a sacramental hole, alone
in his earthworm bowl.

~ or ~

He sits on a miraculous complex system
navigating cities of minuscule microbes
layers of mould and rich sediment
seldom do we realise how much our lives
depend on what's living in the dark.

Seldom have I seen a Mole
digging in his vault of loam
his hands unworthy of a prayer
as he lumbers above the earth
meeting starlight the midnight's air.

Heavenwards ever-so-rare
threshing, he makes a dome
St Paul's Cathedral is his home
a sacramental hole, alone
in his earthworm bowl.

And there beneath, his scratching feet
a metropolis community whispers
let's pull all these vanquished stars this way
we'll make their bodies out of living clay.
Give thanks to us today.
You moles interned in the dark that comes our way.