In these beetle times
with hard tight bodies,
shiny skittering
abounds
at a dizzying pace.
In the forest
a slug undulates,
sensitive softness
draping
over rough protrusions.
Without appendages,
movement comes from its thick centre
supported by earth.
Attentive feelers
respond in a delicate sway,
new information coaxing the lazy excursion.
Comfortable in its own slime.
it exudes a messy benediction,
a shimmering trail.
The beetle stops
to briefly hear
the languid rustling,
a thousand slugs receiving
earth’s massage.