Oh Worm

Sometimes after it storms, I worry the rain

Will never come again.

So I stay craving the same devastating winds

That built my nightmares,

And ripped roots from strong hold.

As I watch flopping, blind bodies seethe beneath me,

Still savoring their emergence,

I can’t help but imagine a time when the sun

Bared its face through precipitation and all.

They don’t care that what is drowned now

Will become scathing desert.

If creatures drawn from home

Live and learn to love what can be

Ultimate demise and doom,

Then I can get out of bed.