The summer clouds first crack, then burst.
Earthworms emerge, seeking air.
They are there
when the storm has ended, stranded
on the steaming asphalt,
where my two small daughters find them.
In flowered shirts and plastic sandals,
they squat down to look, then
delicate fingers lift limp strands
of pink and brown, return them
to sunburned grass, dark garden soil.
and then kneel down