Tonight I drove home, aware,
the rain plinking unevenly on the roof of my car
of all four wheels hissing wetly across the ground
I somewhat cringed as I went along,
noting how my tires crushed invertebrate bodies
was it hundreds of tiny snuffings I made in the evening rain?
I wondered then at them, marveled.
thought of life and their awareness and strangely
the Dalai Lama--how he worried his digging could kill.
Each life is sacred, yes, yes, yes.
I'll not say these tiny squiggles of animation can or should compare
to God's son Christ, or our souls He bought with blood
But I find myself thinking, perhaps
wondering even, just how that hymn is sung~
the wordless wormsong that God hears after each soaking storm.