Brass

I filled the three brass cylinders

Each the length of a hand

With wet mud

And left them overnight

When I emptied them

The next morning

Bizarre creatures

Had hatched in the mud

A black bug, half spider – half nasty

With thin, stingy bits

Squeezed itself from the tube

A coil of wet mud

Became a short, fat snake

Or maybe it was a worm

The dream is already fading