Tuesday, 14 May 2013


In the sidelight’s shadow you say 
I’m the yellow snail 
we noticed earlier
              who’d made it halfway across the pavement.

I can’t quite see the resemblance. 

If it is me, then I’m one of the motley snails 
who’ve appeared since last night’s bucketing 
  that rattled the skylight, 
as if it were hail impelling like bingo balls;
                                      like the carnival flourish 
I catch in your warmest voice.

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