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Worm’s Way

There’s no time without eyes and ears.
Tell that to the worm who suddenly appears
stretching his body at the end of a rain
to a wandering point that seems in pain
to find a drier clime not in the sun.
A warm peace without baking or shaking
but going forth from whence begun
slippery and smoothing even when quaking.

But that’s not how it is in the great expanse.
You churn and eat dirt as you enhance.
Flower and crop multiply in your stride
not giving you due as they spread wide.
So there you have it while moving along.
Blind faith that you’re doing something right.
Inching about as the earth seems too long.
Fearing you’ll shrink in the length of the light.

Published in Poetry