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Poetry

The kingdom of my kitchen invites one snail
to measure a carrot peel with the full length

of her body. Of Christ and necessity this snail says
nothing. The celery shines. By morning, my countertops,

my floor will glisten with the star road of her meanderings.
It measures a universe of dark and light in silence.

The fleshed heart of the strawberry, the skirts of daffodils:
each in its turn holds this snail’s antennaed attention.

To fold into the curve of time and space, exactly
as things are, is this creature’s genius and my intent,

daily in the kingdom of my dark kitchen
where life arrives with its glorious abandon.


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