The tired snakes writhe above me––
I can never tell when it's raining
without looking out the window. Early on,
I would wake with a satisfied weight,
usually a mouse, a rat, a roach,
consumed while I slept. Only men
turn stony, other creatures freeze
from that scaly gaze I can claim
only distantly as my own. Nothing
strays close these days, but the snakes
will never eat one-another––how
could I destroy a part of myself
with so much work to be done?
When champions plead, their hands
make a beautiful place for bird nests.
Every man is bettered by stillness.