snake and fox 



Like the tree standing in the winter frost,

rustling off leaves,

crusted and dry,

shedding the old decayed fabric off my skin,

licked up by the wind,

food for the dust,

breath of the spirits,

who feel brave in the cold,

visible     clear      force,

stalking the seasons with different masks,

who are you really?

My bones are branches,

thick and strong,

rooted deep under the skin of the earth,

turning inward to the eternal silence which isn’t always so quiet,

here the foxes tell tricky tales in a secret language,

hunting the two headed snake,

burying the deformed wonder under their paws.

I emerge silently looking,

at this uneven battle,

one creature picking apart a gentle rubbery tube,

who just likes to slip and slide,

along the forest floor,

or at least that’s what I see,

in the scaled wonder,

forgetting the fanged venom it holds,

but like me,

It sheds its skin and sleeps, recovering from the pace of evolution,

a much needed slumber,

for this earth throws turbulence and lavish thrills

at everything upon it.

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