Shells...........................................1

Sun spools
through cowparsley flowers,
makes a lace of brightness.
Birds' songs knit, unravel
as I travel
beneath budding crab apple trees.

Shadow confetti falls
through their green kaleidoscope
on this narrow grey path
I've walked since I could walk
between the road where I live
and the one where the bus stops
on the way to town.

I'd rather be here
than shopping, but know
if it wasn't for being moved
by what I read last night
I'd be still
asleep

leaving this now unknown.

A snail trails a chrystal sliver of slime
across the path's no-man's land,
its swaying shell, fragile
shelter and burden,
the only beautiful thing
about it.

I watch a minute, then
think of you, and step over it, hurrying again.

I must catch this bus,
buy something new
for the first time I meet you:
not frayed through wear, or torn
tresspassing, on barbed wire fences,
in places other people never go
(Meeting, I turn in pretence I don't see them
and walk away, safely alone
back coiled
in familiar spirals
filled with myself.)

I have a picture of the clothes
I want to buy,
but they don't exist;
I'll wear what I wear to read and send your e-mails.

I get off the bus,
retrace my tracks, relieved.

There is a crushing crack:
in horrified guilt I realise
I've trodden on the snail
going back.
Its shell's broken, life oozing
out.
Gritting my heart I stamp, again, again, and smear
what's left to take away its pain.

A snail is nothing without its shell,
as I am dumb
away from the protection
of my computer screen;

I'm not sure what you want, expect
from reality,
loving this e-communication
fear I'll put a foot wrong -
wreck it