Night Crawler

Nearly full worm moon, you say,
Just since you want to allow
The words worm and moon to embrace,

Not that the pairing matters.
Uprooting words is weeding
Or harvesting things like beets—

There’s pleasure in shaking out
Memory’s black dirt from roots.
If somebody says hunger,

Wolf, or snow, you have some thoughts,
But the soil’s a little thin.
Moon on its own’s exhausted.

But where the worm’s been, it’s rich,
Worm moon turning in night’s ditch.