Golden Hour

In a vision like a sunburn I see a

snake hurrying through the grass. She

is desperate to be back with her

eggs. She thinks something horrible

must have happened. Impossible to

tell or imagine what because her mind

will not allow it. Only the feeling comes

through: cool dread like the map of

her belly's scales, a sorrow not even the sun

can touch. But here are her eggs, nestled

where she left them. Her body is a ring

of black light. Her hope is a fang, sending

venom deep into her offsprings' dreams.

At last she reveals to me that what curses

you can also cure you. Poison is only

poison in the wrong blood.