Moleheart

Watching you work, I realise
You move like a field:
Cotton skirts swaying,
Running hands over gossamer dew.
Aboveground, you're all petty birds and sunshine.

Leaves tighten on their stems
As the land's crust hushes.
Darkness looms and coldness drags
And I curl up in spider death.

Your mole heart thumps
As you vanish the headless worms
Bedraping your larder.
The tunnels are seabed black
And the soil gets up my snout.