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a young slug on the counter
Brought in unawares -- suddenly
Airborne as he was clambering
Over the Times in his cruise
Across the rainy sidewalk
In the early November dark.
And now on the move again,
Singlemindedly, belongingly,
In the warm lit kitchen,
His rain-freshened, mucusy skin
Glistening, clean as the porcelain tiles;
And meanwhile, to imagine, still
Travelling through his tissues
Toward the immaculate dark
At his center, the phosphorus-cold glow
Of his wonder: shy, by itself, slow.
Home as are his brothers on a visit
and now saying as we sit at dinner
`After dark I walked out from camp
under the pine trees and wondered
where the light was coming from,
there was no moon. I looked up
and it was stars, I've never seen
so many big stars so close together,
and right over me was Orion,
with his legs down in the branches.
The sky had more light area than dark;
And in the trees, stars were shining
in the smallest openings.'