Unlike the fellow in Alabama who killed the huge rattlesnake on his property, I left this American Watersnake alone. Mind you, the bad news is that I almost stepped on the snake.
Look at it! Absolutely the same color as the stone on which it lay to warm itself, it fooled my eye like the best trompe l'oeil painting. I missed the Rambur's Forktail in the parrot grass, but at least I didn't have snake guts on my sneakers and guilt on my conscience.
When I looked hard, I noticed it seemed awfully skinny. Should it look so . . . well . . . hungry? And when it disappear into its underground or under-rock den for the winter? These are just some questions I had for you.
A snake is the love of thumb
and forefinger.
Other times, an arm
that has swallowed a bicep.
The air behind this one
is like a knot
in a child's shoelace
come undone
while you were blinking.
It is bearing something away.
What? what time
does the next snake leave?
This one's tail is ravelling
into its buttow --
a rosary returned to a purse.
The snake is the last time your spine
could go anywhere alone.
May you and the snakes you love go peacefully into your winter burrows for safe and long rest.
Best,
Robley
No comments:
Post a Comment