Earthworm in Soil

Charlie Darwin said as much. So much from such a lowly thing.
Under a blue tarp, you hid under the covers of two inch mud, eating shit.
Remove the plastic blanket and you pretended you were dead.
In the sunlight, in the glove of a handler, you wriggled, writhed and split
in two, across circle cut segmentations.
Your body flowed like waves upon a foreign shore.
Regeneration only happens in shady soil.
Back in dirt, you dug tunnels into darkness.
Every inch opening pathways for air and light.
The leaves and dust and matter you digest,
open new roads for other worms to wiggle into.
You mine into a potted plot of backyard,
Inching deeper into cold, wet earth,
Waiting for another you to be born.
Elsewhere.