Elijah Burrell DIRT DWELLER I catch a glimpse of grandeur in a Folgers can full of dirt and thrust my fingers into the damp soil, then turn it over, till it up, hunt nightcrawlers. I used to call earthworms baby snakes. It made them sound dangerous, allowed me the guiltless thrill to lance their clitella saddles with shining hooks. I was never much for holding snakes, but I loved the squirm and stick of a lengthy worm. I tip the can, just so— skin glints from the dirt, wiggles, submerges, and I strike for it like a fish does dinner.