No sleeping but my eyes are closed,
the vague shapes in the dark
like tea leaves at the bottom
of a clairvoyant’s cup.
All I hear are the truck’s loud breaks,
pulling into their places.
Unloading everything they’ve carried
with them for so long and so far.
My eyes are open and the wooden
beam above me is covered
by worms with legs,
and they are all crawling in a spiral
pattern back and forth across it.
A gyre of vermin that I’m not sure is real.
I don’t trust what I see,
I only know what I feel.
I reach out my hand
toward the pulsating pile
just to know where I stand in this
forest where the trees like to lie,
and the greatest design is contained
in the smallest components.

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