Red Crane Like a Heart Across the Sky

The red crane twists and torques from earth to sky.
It rises and falls like the letter M.
Machine operating, air to  land, and up again,
like a rollercoaster tipping and tilting its rider to its earthy end.
Hand at the end of arm, cupped in hard dirt, digging through rock and sediment and old cement foundations, long carted away by dusty, fuming dumpster trucks, revving engines down crowded streets to waiting debris barges in the harbor. The rubbish, after the rummage, floats away on water.
The blue fence with posted signs sanctions off space for excavation.
It is a spot, no more than a plot or two.
It is enough room to lay foundations for building.
The red crane looks like a heart across a cloudy blue sky.
The round edges gone.
The lines pointed and peaked, toward substrata and stars,
heavens and hells, brown and blue.
It once was metal utility lines, up and down, air descending into dirt.
The red crane keeps moving and sifting, its silver skeleton keeps twisting.
The hole gets deeper and deeper with every dig.
Inside the blue fence, the red crane prepares the dug brown ground
for the right depth to build.
It remains a red crane like a heart across the blue cloudy sky.