A Question for John

[busker]

After helping me cut cedar in El Bosque Aboriginal,
I was done for the day,
but you began working your charcoal pit,
cutting oak, hauling it to the pit, stacking it in, stirring it with a cedar pole,
over and over,
on into darkness, 
and I finally came out of the cabin
and tried to tell you about Ethan Brand,
but you were so mesmerized by your task,
I finally gave up and went back in.

It’s a conical pit
now hidden by the winter grasses,
so if you stand in it, your head is just above their tops.
Next to it, there is a wheelbarrow’s worth of charcoal,
subsided now, after 10 months, 
to a miniature village of black hills.
the pit is empty; you cleaned it out.
Did you know you were leaving?

I have your fire-pole at home with me.
Your hands wore one end smooth as polished bone,
and I can hold it where your hands were.

Part of me wants to return it to the pit,
(you might want the pole back where you left it)
but I can’t let weather and time erase your hands just yet.
Time enough for that when I am gone too, mijo.

The poem is steeped in a deep, dignified sadness right up to the beautiful last line.
My only suggestion would be that you can drop the 'there is' after 'Next to it'. Otherwise, I can't think of an improvement.