For you crawl on your belly
like a worm, leaving
a glistening trail of startracks
for others to follow
You leave a trail of light
trapped in slime
rainbows appear in the moonlight
and meadows of color
escape into the air.
O snail, your shell
is like the whirlpool,
a Charybdis sucking us in.
Your raspy beak rotors through
the strongest of boxes and
colored chalk, and prized flowers.
Then in return, you leave behind
small paintings of the sun
on a apple left out overnight
on the table.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
when i'm thirsty
my sleepy feet lead me
to the kitchen sink
where I fidn your kith and kin
barefoot, the sound of eggshell
and the silent moon cry
O snail, your body,
a small painting on the floor
no one will admire
or visit in a museum.
CPITS poem written at Cleveland ES, ca 5/07
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