Poets' Practice Pad

Garden

The flowers in tacit formation
arrange the beds to their liking,
as they ascend from dirt and dung,
with colors like wavering constellations
separating themselves from the green.
But I stare ahead at the snail
with horns erect
flaunting courage, creeping,
leaving a trail that glistens in the sunlight;
like a fledgling poet,
it empties its insides
along scattered lines
with cut-up meanings.




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