Snail Levertov Denise

Burden, grace.

artifice coiled

brittle on my back, integral,

I thought to crawl

out of you,

yearned for the worm’s

lowly freedom that can go

under earth and whose

slow arrow pierces

the thick of dark

but in my shell

my life was,

and when I knew it

I remembered

my eyes adept to witness

air and harsh light

and look all ways.