Enemy

Gray day, dry day. A front
blowing in hard from the west. Good Friday. My walk to church
winds through construction. Dirt work.
Earth-breaker. Earth-mover. Huge blade
peeling the ground, scalping caliche to level a wild field for building.

Billowing dust fogs the road ahead of me until the man in a silver hat
pressing and tilting the joysticks sees me
and pauses to let me pass
so the wind will not choke me.
He waves, I wave, our two hands
tearing the veil between us.