Early and late

The early bird gets the worm

But is it late

Or is it early

When the sun climbs

Over a mouth of darkness

And I am awake

With worms underneath my feet –

The grass a salad of wetness

And hungry dirt that licks

My soles

Into a soon-to-be imprint

That I’ll only see

When it is too late

Or will it be early

When she comes to

See me and where I live,

Her legs slop-slopping on the

Grass and dirt just like mine do

But also do not

For they are hers

And she is she

And I do not slop-slop,

Until I do

One slop after another,

Water tickling toes

Though there is no laughter,

Only a slop-slopping

When the worms come from

The dirt’s renewing vomit

Early – or is it late –

Happy to eat me whole.