The Unwarmed Snake

There Spring lies, a helpless, humble thing,
sluggish its blood, clear it’s eyes,
mud upon its head.
It cannot move, I test it,
except its tongue,
and that like the sudden thunder strikes
I knew.

I had been hiking and soon was heading home,
hungry and somewhat cold from lack of sun.
Then I met it,
or some would have said observed,
directly in my path. I swerved
and returned to examine this unkempt
sign of Spring.

Sign of Spring is a laugh! This before me
flat and unwilling petitioner to his god’s bright disc,
so sorely failed. Not harbinger, surely,
but sailor of solar winds suffering calm,
intent of mercy the seasonal whim provides.
As for me, additional trouble,
the treacherous cape one runs.

I watch him and wonder how he should ever come
back to his tunnel. How many days
or months! And think how the season of autumn is for the young
and I too late of birth to appreciate the ways of spring.
But, then, I am speaking. He cannot.
I leave him there.

My children,
Spring is the bum the sun discovers
and warms
in Columbus Square.