Early morning is the first paraffin
of the sun – white, clear like a headache;
It melts down the earth
and softens the grass
I am lost
Lying face down in the tender
furrows of my soft green pillows like
the furrows
in the grass, I am the end of this all
This is my home
I listen to
endless morning chants
of worms and millipedes
I am one of them in the morning,
hiding
for some more darkness