Nothing is hidden, buried perhaps;
dozed over by heavy machinery
or a synapses misalignment sends
the thing astray or it sits waiting, but
it is not unknown and, unlike you and I,
reeks of patience till revelation.

There’s a creature, little known and blind,
that eats its wandering way about;
much like, in appearance, Lumbricidae
and without judgment devours the gist
of us, leaving a trail of detritus to be
burned in heaven’s fire on that final day.