Snail

Nearly still, small yet long, always wet,
Stuck fast to glass, turning slowly, slowly
toward the rotting pear.
Tiny eyes, swaying on antennae:
delicate black beads,
slumping down to scan the fruit.
Slick body convulsing in gentle waves,
each small movement coaxing
an unremarkable glide
a slow, controlled slide.
At the bottom of the jar,
the snail feasts.