The snails drag their beings
across this sodden earth,
defiling the mud that lay beneath.
Wild grass shall not grow
where they trailed.
Mourners shall not cry
over their open caskets—
not even flies shall gather
to sing a song of despair and misery.
The soil and the worms
shall not eat into their bones.
Their beings are a witness
to deicide.
Their breath is a testament
to humanity’s eleventh hour
on the cross.