Matilda Worm

On a smooth and cold stone-floor in pitch-dark,

In a heap of Jell-o, emerged ravening of mouth,

Claw first, then toothy puckered mouth under

Red puffy eyes, mere slits echoing emptiness,

Matilda Worm, Aborted of Moonlight

And Marshland. It fell down its rocky shelf,

Paused to sniff at air, and made its way straight

To a beam of the moon that was searching,

Like a hunchbacked dwarf, with a feeble lamp,

Will search its pockets for remnant gold coins,

To cross drunk, at some ferry late at night.

Then, turning away with treasure not found,

But grasped from behind with friendly hand,

By the toll-man to traffic an unknown,

But for the cold, way he wouldn’t know of,

When hope had died, then been reborn,

On torturous paths of the sky, found.

It makes greed swell, and intensifies fear,

But now, our heroic worm takes his part,

On the stage; its first sight after it saw,

The weakling beams of the moon, as it fought

For its soul against the nimbus cloud,

Was a village asleep in fitful dream,

Cleft into the mountain like a trapped

Marshland animal. And to see made drool

Fall, from its mouth and brought hungry cries.

Then it disappeared into the grey wild,

With downward step intently and secret.

For the moonlight was fighting clouds,

And the marsh was far down the slope,

Outstretched to its fantastic end of Earth.

Seen by no one, it dropped into a lane,

Behind a hedge of rose-bush out of season.

It climbed a building to an open window,

And disappeared into the dark mouth.