See this brimming snailshell beast that grows
its rings imperceptible, careful, slow -
impelled through landscape
by soft flesh over
barren-seeming brick and moss
meadows that must be rich, because
we stop
to graze.
it needs a barest breath
to make the eyes flinch.
The body curls in
cringing tense of bonelessness.
See how we pause and lock -
hold tight and lock, our
edges sealed while we wait blind
for the blow for the burst
door.
it needs a barest breath
and we wait on crystalline
paths we wrote
from one meal to the next -
furled tight around the centre of
our meat, anticipating
the jagged
shatter
of our curvature.
.
Cool, I'll never look at another snail the same again. I especially like the last stanza and waiting on the 'crystalline paths we wrote'.
ReplyDeletestunning. stunning. stunning.
ReplyDeleteLove the rhythm, here Bruce - and this
ReplyDelete"it needs a barest breath
to make the eyes flinch."
Is great
@markwmjackson, i love to observe the small things. am glad you see them too. snailtrails in the early morning are the most delicate things.
ReplyDelete@aJoy, oh, you...
@ashleycapes such a pleasure to have you here, reading. eyes wide open :)
thank you all.
oh, those crystalline paths we wrote!
ReplyDeletewonderful curving and tightening in this. loved the rhythm, too.
Miss Jane, our gardens need all creatures if they are to thrive, no?
ReplyDeletea spiral implies an endpoint. let's hope that we reach it.
"tense of bonelessness" grabbed me. How true!
ReplyDeleteVery Margaret Atwood in line breaking, but still you in terms of illuminating details. Love it to bits!