On the Sun’s day, she called for a walk,
so I obliged, and listened to the birds of Spring.
They sang to each other, but left me out of their songs.
My steps were slow, while walking, to know.
And back in the woods, so far that I was alone,
they began to come, each at a different place
on my path: those that I fear most –
the snakes. They wound right to me, looked through
my eyes, never stopping – though I could not
move. They each wore different clothes, but none
feared me; they approached. Stopped.
Spoke their silence. Froze me in the leafy moment.
Seven times, seven snakes, seven silences,
each of them with something to say.
Talking to the Clouds 