The hammering sound, steel against earth,
my body humming, threaded with effort.
The rigs belch smoke like untamed beasts,
their roar a refrain in my blood.
In the truck cab, the seat creased,
I stretch out, spine bent like rebar.
The rain taps its slow persistent code,
its rhythms a solace, a whispered lull.
A dream slips in—roots break asphalt,
the earth swallowing a thousand highways.
My hands are cracked from holding wrenches,
grease threaded into my calloused skin.
Out here, the stars gleam like forgotten scars,
their light too faint for a man working,
too quiet to answer the old, raw hum
that pulses within these overused bones.