Oh to be a snail
in the glow
of an early
June evening
shell speckled
in blood
beneath the
rich sky
the moon,
your only witness
forging a path through
the last Spring
of war
across the sights
and sounds
of a changing
forest
trees you
once knew
now burn
alive
screams heard
from either
side
as the powder field
opens
to a swarming
mess of
greed and mud
behold,
the oasis—
the storied place—
a right new dawn
for this one
lowly slug