King Llanza

A Brief Meeting

Two hermit crabs face each other,
swift away vulnerable,
trying on each other’s shells.

Their bodies contour any shape
as long as it spells protection.

As a huge wave foams the tide line,
both are nudged to move. Their legs
press lightly on sand, only to
wash away the subtly prints.
Midday sun, in disbelief of
a cold exchange. This is why
we never fill                      another’s absence
the same way.                      We are houses
in constant need                      of shelter.

The Underside of Healing

My love, I was at our backyard this morning.
The rain was delivered fresh,
sealed with silver lining and sunlight
blessing us more than usual.

Snails crawled on manicured grass and tall wooden
fences. I was sitting by the garden table eating
hard-boiled eggs, tapped lightly onto rock salt
in between bites. Satisfied, I put a pinch
of salt on my palm, walked towards a snail
on the fence post. I seasoned its slimy body.
It retracted, foaming
like hydrogen peroxide against abrasion.
then slowly
detaching to its fall.

An hour later, it has not emerged.

This slithering open wound, safe
in its shell, will never recover.