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.