Worm on the Slickrock
October 4, 2006
Crawl across my foot
my little worm friend.
Together we’ll bake our
wrinkly bodies in the sun.
I’ve nothing else to do all day,
or for an hour, but to
share your sudden life,
sitting, wrinkling.
Just because I want to.
And I can.
I’ll help you pass little worm.
Sweep you in a magic, dizzying way,
back to your island of lichen, moss
and various fungus hidden.
Over rocks, twigs and hills of toes,
for no other reason than none.
But I promise silence
my little friend,
I don’t wish to quake you,
my quietest voice being thunder.
–
ca. 1990
