I wind under oaks,
not looking for dust scallops,
not listening to leaf song,
lost in brain chatter.
Buzz. Red diamonds.
I recoil in respect.
She is faded to match late summer
(except for the shock
of black and white over her rattle),
bent into defense, waiting
for a better venom victim than
unswallowable me. We do not blink.
My thanks are awkward:
me a stranger to the lithe
strike, unaccustomed
to always-open eyes,
finally awake.
Written by Thea Gavin.
Originally published in Deep Wild Journal.