WORMS

WORMS

WORMS

May: the Dyad Moon

One cub has died on the road. Magpies
have eaten her. The last two play-learn, eat solid food
and follow their parents through dusk. Twins
of the Greek night sky, Castor and Pollux, shine
through damp London nights as earthworms
leave burrows. Parents spoon crane-flies off lawns
with their tongues, teach young to deadhead the bins

on Bemerton and Havelock, lift black plates
for frankincense, rot-lustre gems
of sunk baconfat. To strip flaking bark
for silverheave woodlice, listen
for worm-bristles rasping through grass.
If worm-tails are gripping the burrow –
even a worm can be frantic – the grey-black lips

pull gently taut – and pause – and pull again.
A technique used by bait-collecting fishermen.