In the Beginning, the Slug
From confusion and darkness
over the deep, this —
divine days of early fall, glitter
of high blue, lush watered grass.
Something shimmers, the length of a necklace,
flecks of silver, of pink, of blue almost tinsel
on the lawn like living breathing Mylar
delicately held by every blade of grass.
What could be more humble than the slug?
A snail without home on its back.
Secreting a minuscule rainbow
to grease its wayward path.