Maybe there are snakes here
where I am sitting on the ground.
I can hear them behind me,
creeping through the leaves.
Or is that the wind?
Maybe there are snakes here
where I am lying
basking in the sun.
But why should be afraid?
The sun is theirs as well.
And if they come and wrap
themselves around and beside me
I will not run away.
Screaming I will stay.
For why should be afraid
to give them warmth?
1991
