Five times this afternoon
I started a poem about light
the way it hovers
like a kite
on the wall
I dreamed last night
that there were snails in my bed
which may or may not explain
why I couldn’t finish
the poem about light
did you know a snail’s eyes hang
at the end of its tentacles
bobbing there like lollipops
it travels like this for twenty years
slow as sleep
seeing only light and dark
one smudge at a time
it’s enough awe to choke on
that this world has a home
for that damp little beast
my half-finished poem
and the deluge
of so much light.