With fingers firmly grasped Upon the sleek wooden grain Their grip tightens. Swing after swing, They Carve into the arid earth Quietly washing the dirt wake aside. Sodden with sweat The desert glistens. But, Cracks protrude, Funneling the drops Of lustrous heroism Through canyons of age. Worn well, but weary The hours of grit and grime Remain nameless. With only one record kept On a single organ playing a Constant tune ————————————- In the last of the fleeting light The crew was left to work In the uneasy silence Of the closing coverage Brought by the night’s blind. Off to the left, All eyes shifted To the sight of the orange wave Crashing upon the sea of green and breaking against the black Surface of peace Nightfall typically blankets the heat Tucked in by the sav...