wrens and robins skirmishing about the house
and honeysuckle in December flower,
sunlight reaching warm fingers across the frost,
tree roots digging deep,
Listen to the tread of your feet,
stop in the silence,
watch what falls, what rises.
This world washed clean of fear of what is not,
is the world that lives, says the earthworm.
Let the dead hang on their trees,
hide in their seabound caves, tossing fire and plague
or magic words to hold back floods.
Look deep and high,
sniff the air.
Believe in fingers delved into loose earth
that find the only truths.
Worms are the beginning and the end;
forever bites the tail of never.
accept, and live
in bright bird-sweep.
For the earthweal challenge. I didn’t invite anyone in particular, but an earthworm invited itself, and the Oracle whispered without being invoked.