Snail space

A line of guests watch
a monk watch
a snail

curve into question:
Scylla’s horns tug
at Charybdis’ eddy.

“A snail is at sea:
not home and home,
not still and still.”

The monk’s calves
in backwash,
his robe an inlet
of limp sail.
His shoulders shelter
in osteoporotic hunch
a line of ships from
the snail’s implicity:

Quick: watch it

or live it:
no steerageway
between. Only
slipstream

.