Once, shell-less snails filled me with terror.
That childish outlook was my error.
Now, I laugh it off with a shrug.
It's just another slug.
***
If rock-paper-scissors was a game,
played with creatures whose only aim
was to eat,
when confronted by a duck, new to town,
any slug with pluck, would soon go down
in defeat.
I should hate to lose them in a freakish accident.
They have brought me so much pleasure
wandering as they do like shell-less crabs
between the waymarks of self.
I love to make them dance like windblown leaves.
Leonardo da Vinci was fascinated by hands,
he understood that if you could capture them
you could shape cathedrals out of air & water,
they are often more eloquent than words.
I like to turn them over, as I would turn over
a page of scripture.
They are almost weightless.
every ounce of flesh takes the strain
working cantilevers, pulling ropes
lifting them above gravity.
Shamelessly they openly appear naked
in public
When I recall how they have been abused
I ask them for forgiveness.
At times, I want to clean them
like seabirds caught in an oil slick.
Then I remember that they are my art,
also the mute witnesses
of my many fumbled catches,
yet they wash me every day
as I wash them.
I should hate to lose them in a freak accident.
They have brought me much covert pleasure.
Like shell-less crabs;
they have leased their homes,
rested and moved on like itinerant workers,
Leonardo da Vinci was fascinated by them,
he understood that if you could draw them,
then you could shape cathedrals from water.
They are best seen in the dark,
or as shades for the light.
At times, I want to clean them
like seabirds caught in an oil slick.
Then I remember,
they wash me every day, as I wash them.
I’d hoped some salamanders
Would be crawling on the road,
For a downpour in the country
Makes them exit their abode.
But I haven’t seen them lately
And I looked with every tread.
What I noticed, though, were lots and lots
Of slimy slugs instead.
Like the worms that they resemble
They enjoy the ground when wet
And emerge from ‘neath the soil
With each chance that they may get.
In my youth, a salamander
I would lift up by the tail
But there’s not the same attraction
To this skeevy shell-less snail.
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