that's to say, I get to be

 Late autumn sun on (what I assume to be galvanized) steel tubs
where tilling reveals a worm, fresh and wriggling and pink; hands
gentle (again!) pat the earth replaced with an absent-minded "there you go"
laughter spouts vapor and I wait for
later: lazily drifting smoke winds around the heads of (unfamiliar) faces
to go with their (familiar?) voices; we simply breathe and it becomes
part of us like how you ferret the best from ourselves kept in quiet esteem
I find it easy this time; I look down
and see your head in my lap (when did that happen) with your legs
thrown so casually over the arm of the sofa (like it's always been this way)
hands gentle (mine this time!) pet your hair and I fail at video games and I just
cannot believe that I am the worm