written by: Giovanni Fruncillo
Only dry coiled skin remains
in the nursery of the Rattlesnake.
The Rattlesnake and her children are gone.
Just two weeks ago she gave birth to her young,
and now the dark ledge where she and her mate
Curled and twisted like fierce knots,
The spiraling seasons, like echoes
of time, recur again and again.
In the recesses of our soul,
are long forgotten memories,
full of sorrow and fierce beauty.