The Angel of Death

A worm is drying on the sidewalk,
a few inches from the grass,
writhing to unstick from pavement.

I use my shadow to shield their tiny efforts,
kneel down to give my full attention.
I sweat with guilt, anticipation,

as water falls from the condensation
on a bottle held up high, as if I am playing god,
I exhale heavy,

their body swells like a sponge
and I watch the worm 
wriggle through the cool puddle,

regain life,
burrow back in the mud.
I am drowning in thought now,

how many times
has something I cannot see
seemingly rescue me?


.ham