A bending brown back
digs with pick and shovel
from sunrise to sunset
digs with pick and shovel

The wall that wasn’t there
fed my fear of falling through
the summer air and landing
in my neighbor’s lap

The clouds and fog
scatter in San Diego sun
and the pick and shovel
disappear from view

The wall that wasn’t there
now stands below in sod
and stone—shoring up
my faith in flesh and bone