worms
a morning poem
Worms
Dew drops adorned across grass carry messages left by angels at dawn
Glistening orbs remind me water is more prophetic than a crystal ball
To read them I must crouch down low, asking the worms if I may enter their sacred realm
How often the floor is overlooked, they sigh, Yet this is the place colors come from
My head resting in hands, belly on earth, I ask, What about the sun?
And with a smile they travel beneath me, and I watch their echo touch the clouds —
Without our invisible world below, nothing would grow, the light would have nowhere to go
I linger in their forest of memories as soft tears and dew combine
Every age I have ever been sinks down thick blades and rests, knowing it is here I will always find myself
We are the water falling, landing on the top of something else
I am made of roots and time
Photo : Delaware, June, 2020