On Stepping on a Snail

Morning

light the tone
a child paints the sun

a charm of finches
flit a sharper cowardice still

and a small black dog
ambushes through long grass
lolling tongue bumped with grass seeds and hay bugs.

underfoot are sluggish flights to dew
glistening exhaust graduating the way
then porcelain fractures
with a crisp retort

and here at this spot
the day ends before
the sun clears the hills.