Terrarium

by Nancy A. Henry

Piety,
New moon, stingy-petaled single rose,
full blown, you’ve gone straight
from maid to crone.
Let us moisten the moss for this woman of snails.
Let us make a glass tank for her tendril and ooze.
We might identify a weak, damp pulse
though surely not lust.
The winds blow all the day and the dust is us.