Yen
In a mid-life dream I was trying to kill a blacksnake,
hacking at it with a hoe,
as wrong a thing as I would never really do.
It slithered its sleek retreat like grace itself,
winding onyx through the undergrowth,
thick as my wrist, nearly long as I am tall, and beautiful,
more beautiful than anything it might have harmed.
I woke up wanting to touch its silk skin,
follow warmth from where I’d found it in the sun.
