it’s the musty pounding that comes up from the earth
after an orchestra of rainfall performs for everyone in that forty mile radius
a thick aura flies by at the rate
of someone’s brain on marijuana
almost enough that you can reach out and see it
but nothing quite fits into your hand
it’s the way i’d stroll outside to take the trash out
or throw an unwanted ladybug outside
that i would stop
catch a glimpse of the dulled scene
the wind’s sharp edges were nailed down
trees don’t seem as tall or heavy
grass carries more significance than before when painting my shoes
with its brand new collection of mud
even on the most sinuous of roads
one smell and
i was gone
it wasn’t until years later of being intoxicated by this
that my sister revealed that the potent heartiness that filled me up after a rainfall
was really just earthworms
squirming up from their grime filled depths
and into my eyes, ears, throat, and head whenever i saw them
and now whenever i seemed to smell them
apparently
the trees no longer sway slower
the grass no longer expressed its artistry under my nose
gathered winds didn’t rest their whole hands on my shoulders once i left the house
i just smelled earthworms
their lack of eyes
washed out faces and ghosted arms and legs
just earthworms.