It was the beginning of the sun | That was how she fell asleep in my arms, so peaceful | The world rolled out of her unconscious hand | let others chase it now, and I | will chase it too | as you can see | Small birds upon the surface of the moon, they sing for her | and the snake’s young | twist inside their eggs, they feel they must | set out at once, on their journey, or else | they’ll never reach their end | Her sleep is my repose | For each | of the snakes within my heart | I light a flame, and to each | slithering flame | I bring a dark

I walked slowly across the meadow | That summer took its time to die | I watched a snake swim through the water | the air was glistening with thistledowns | quiet and still | as if mown | now and then | I heard crows | Gundogs came trotting past | songbirds in their mouths | the huntsmen in the distance | came nearer and we conversed a while | they were sleeping in her arms | and all the snakes inside their hearts | sensed the autumn coolness coming | signalling the end of light, the need | for months of darkness, they | know they must put down the fire and tides, the mice, the moon | put down the yellowing grasses | the breeze | the scent of hare and stone and soil | they know | they must put down everything that lives, they know | with absolute certainty what they | must do, they just don’t | know why


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, August 2013)