I don't hear my feet pound the sidewalk.
I see them--
Blue blurs, floppy laces.
I can't hear myself breathing.
But I must be.
On the loop by creek,
The slugs' trails are silver dashes,
Like strands of ghost-pearls strewn over the concrete.
Some slimed across the walk only to loop back into the crab grass.
I am strangely relieved that most completed the journey.
I race past a few (four, five, six)
That were splattered by giants,
and giant bicycles.
They were asteroids up against the Earth.
If I spot one struggling to the other side,
I pick it up and drop it safely across.
Have I saved it
Or denied it something?