The Language of Snakes

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The Language of Snakes

Honestly, they’ve little to say,
more concerned with the proper rock
to coil upon,
where the sun slathers thickest,
where cold blood can warm.

As a drizzled ribbon lies,
they lie, spitting their tongue
into an afternoon,
searching the air for heart and life:
an errant mouse trembling

beneath a dry leaf,
a child’s fear,
a song that charms,
a time to twirl and dance.
It only requires your silence.


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