he said not to be like a snail

How if you touch its horn,
it shrinks.

But it’s like the way I don’t notice until a
droplet of sweat has already
popped through skin.

Like the midday sun beating our heads—and we stalk slabs of shade—
the light throbbing through.

He said a two pointed needle gets no sewing done,
that it’s a problem with my mind.

And in the night, the army of insects advance.