Poem from Marrianne

The snail at the edge of the road

inches forward, a trim gray finger

of a fellow in pinstripe suit.

He's burdened by his house

that has to follow

where he goes. Every inch,

he pulls together

all he is,

all he owns,

all he was given.

The road is wide'

but he is called

by something

that knows him

on the other side.