Dusty Snails - Chrissy Shimizu

Weather beaten woody plant

The Ghost of spring, swathed

     In white webs

Somehow - haunted acorn shaped

       Brittle blooms hang, still

The fine skeletons of petals,

                                   Spun silk

Once an intact faerie kingdom

Hang the decay of worn out wings

                   Old forgotten magic

Pulsing a soft story through enchanted veins

          And garden snails sit long hours

                        Lulled,

By the faint beating of the past.