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.