The pull of the chainsaw
Whirr of the sawmill blade

Boot click against spade edge
Suck of red clay
Chink of metal pebble grate

Green leaves breathing incense
The softer vowels of light
Followed by a hush so deep one might think
The folding chairs were a pitch pipe or a gong

The workers might misspell something
With the new mechanized chisel
With the sound of a dental drill installing
Your name not to a blank sheet of paper
But into the surface of a granite slab