Hatching in Paradise

Ever since I was a worm
in my parents' house, when I
crawled through the tiny
holes and tunnels

the passages of warmth and wet
that join the world
with love, turned around the bed.
My mother's bed was a nest of flowers.

I could hide deep
under the the heavy covers
in the dark roots, or I could
slip through the zipper door

into pastel dreamland
and dry new born
insect eyes
in honey air.