Of Worms

The sky and moon; these two an empire,
a mystic house. Beneath them, a constant field
where I live homeless;

where men in dusty clothes move
in and out, leisure shadows, strangers,

Often I forget the light, the way
it thrusts downward, plying against
the stubborn pearl.

Night, before ascending
persuades the mist, the stars,
the naked girl, to leave

the misery of reason
to the twisting worms.

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