The Milk Snake 

Amidst the smooth breeze of spring, 

the milk snake lies,

resting her sheened head, 

dressed by faded tan leaves.

I take one step forward.

Her amber eyes watch intently.

Her smooth tongue slips out, 

a warning.

Bands of tarmac grey coat her slim leather body,

tones of tar black and maroon striping her sides. 

From her coils, a glossy diamond head 

with a pointed snout rises to greet me. 

The fork slips out once more, 

light pink, a blossoming tree peony

opening from its restful bud.

She’s perceptive, inquisitive,

her eyes predatory and defensive, feigning intimidation. 

Eye contact, as our eyes meet.

Resting in her delicate beads, the light of galaxies, 

answers to the secrets of the universe, 

a misunderstood picture 

drawn with elegance by --- 

something unforetold.

The sun catches her reflective head 

as she glides effortlessly 

amongst the fractured walls 

of a broken place, 

once man’s, 

now Nature’s 

domain once more.

She slithers away, 

her spear tail the last view. 

Under the light of the midday sun, 

a gap in the canopy -- 

I am alone.