the anticipation of grave-digging

she sees a marathon
and thinks,
"what are all those people running from?"
and why in the middle of the night?
"he said we'd have the place to ourselves."
their shoes glow compressed on the pavement, over and over again.
"well, best to keep digging," i said.
the dirt came down like rain.
first it came up, off of her shovel, sailed through the air in a parabolic arch of earth and gravel,
and then it rained down onto the soft lawn of the surrounding graves.
her eyes reflected the moon above the low grey clouds.
"the moon is sad," she said.
the thumping feet of the marathoners slipped into perfect time alongside the pebbles she was throwing.
"it probably wants to explore, get off it's leash, hunt mice in old barns," i said.
"yeah, that sort of thing," she said.
two things happened. both were sounds.
an echo as the spade of her shovel found the coffin
and
a crunch that was something between the snapping of a tree limb and the destruction of concrete.
"that's it, you've found it," i said.
"but that's not important now," she said.
her eyes were over the edge of the hole, standing on her toes, i could not see her mouth, but it was open.
"look, they are being chased."
over my shoulder, the last runner gave a sigh, and laid down amongst the graves.
that crunching noise grew closer in the dark.