Every steamy morning in Houston
I checked on the snails snailing around the succulent garden
chewing their way to some kingdom-come
until I couldn’t stand being so far removed
so Harold bought a tiny terrarium, chalk,
and some moss for a snail habitat—
for the three I called The Three Sammies.
Every week I exchanged one with another still in the wild
so as not to endanger their wilderness skills.

OR, B
in the curious phenomenon of your occipital horn

Every steamy morning in Houston
I checked on the snails snailing around the succulent garden
chewing their way to some kingdom-come
until I couldn’t stand being so far removed
so Harold bought a tiny terrarium, chalk, and moss
for the three I called The Three Sammies.
Every week I exchanged one with another still in the wild
so as not to endanger their wilderness skills
with ready calcium and carrots. I admit
I forgot about snails when we moved back East,
until we traveled to Prague and visited the Jewish Cemetery
and saw the marble-y snails that reside on the moss-covered,
pebble-bearing headstones.  I felt moved to witness,
among the cramped quarters of the long-dead, a little genesis.

OR, C
in the curious phenomenon of your occipital horn

Every steamy morning in Houston
I checked on the snails snailing around the succulent garden
chewing their way to some kingdom-come
until I couldn’t stand being so far removed
so Harold bought a tiny terrarium, chalk,
and some moss for a snail habitat—
for the three I called The Three Sammies.
Every week I exchanged one with another still in the wild
so as not to endanger their wilderness skills
with ready calcium and carrots. I admit
I forgot about snails when we moved back East,
until we traveled to Prague and visited the Jewish Cemetery
and saw the marble-y snails that reside on the moss-covered,
pebble-bearing headstones.  I felt moved to witness,
among the cramped quarters of the long-dead, a little genesis.
And now I’m concerned with hermit crabs
along the beach near our own cul-de-sac.  

Note: The line "in the curious phenomenon of your occipital horn" is from Marianne Moore's "To A Snail."