TERRARIUM
A painted meadowlark on a painted fallen log,
sketch of canyon and field done in ochre strokes.
The snake inside is still as art, convict-striped,
glass-eyed—and real.
Snake, I also was born in the forest and I also danced
on a done-up stage, hair ribbons pressed over my ears.
Back then each animal had its lair. Now the meadows,
the trees are all painted to give us a feel.
Only a fool holds onto place. To survive, make the place
you are look like home. Snake, this is the song of the kept.
See the crack in the painted sky? Soon the herpetologist
will open the back of your world. He’ll reach in and lift you
to twist in the air, coil the length of his arm, your primitive
three-chambered heart will shiver in its three-chambered sac.
This is affection—this tender art they made of you, this use.
The man will study your eyes and skin.
He will measure and weigh. He will note your mood.
Let him study. Let him see.

86 pages, $18.00
ISBN: 978-0-9794582-9-3
© 2016
On Sale for $16.00