Slugs

Dreamed 2010/11/24 by Ellen Frank

Over bits of stinging nettle rain-hurled heaps of pebble, fern leaf mold split acorns, pine duff, our mustard bodies inch forward Olive horse-droppings puddle dark soil, paths slippery etched with cleft sycamore Lichen curls drift in the wind Water tumbles down gray, scarred boulders Eucalyptus limbs quiver and squeak redwood breath enfolds us In increments we stretch, shift probe in mottled light, and emerge in unfolding time below thick brush and toyon Earth holds our innocuous rhythm, we press on in dumb obedience to life, blind to mountain bikes that could instantly crush us.