Ode to Moles
  By Judy Morse

--for Mary Oliver

Under cloudless sky
under leaf and loam
with eyes that don’t see
and ears that don’t hear
and paws that don’t walk
you breast-stroke through dirt.
Your pink shovel-hands
sifting the weight of the world
your sleek black body
seeking earthworm and grub
your stubborn nose
sniffing savory bulb.
Through labyrinth of tree roots
over rock bed and around granite
boulder you push against the world
you dig
      and dig
           and dig
unaware of the sunlight
unaware of the moonlight
your world dark and moist and humid.
Paddle-footed you rub your way
beneath the unknown world above.
The earth cradles you, awaits
the day your short stay silently ends.