While You Were Sleeping

After Darren Soh

 A great hand rises from the ground

to sweep the insubstantial sand,

 

gathering to a crown, an iron

crown, the roots of homes. A fire

 

chills the grass, the tree, and air

assumes the nonchalance of a door.

 

Big light pierces through the greatness

of the hand. My eyes say yes.

 

Today, the soil yields a worm,

bold, glistening in the calm.