openings for worms to take chances
to grow like grass, waiting for rain
to return them swimmingly
and fishing girls to pick them
from thin puddles and lay them
twisting in plastic tubs.
Who would ask the girls about
the glamorous aura of worms
or list the shapes of haloes
once documenting stone faces?
To love the earth from the depths of its thinginess
entails not just hunger but humor:
as the hungry cows moo to the girls
in late summer fields
the Dachshund moos to us.
So we lead each other to go see
jets mirrored to sluice willy-nilly cloudbursts
dropping home in parables of love
and dropping darkness and lightning at destinations.
Blackouts pass in intervals.
Transportation is at a premium.
Clouds give way to rain and grain,
grain is compacted, steer hooves
clamoring out of the closing bullet
a ballet, for which we are always late
as in the alliance of pollywogs
pointing cutely to true north.
(October 2012)
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