Sonnet for the Earthworm

Around me the rocks are waking.
The trees lift wings, each
a spontaneous morning stretch against the light.
The tall grass slumbers on.

The ocean sleeps far off
drifting up in vaporous dreams
to sail high over the beaches,
watering the flowers on the mountain:

The streams rush happily as children
to the rivers, the rivers
gather them in like women grown old and slow
and sleepy—

The earthworm tunnels its way
under the earth, digesting.