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Description
I am terrified of walking in the world,
for under each stone could be a place whose warmth I missed,
a place unturned, scorched by moss,
visited by lycan-- a den of grasshoppers' night music--
a spot of earth even the moon has never visited.

I am afraid to discover the secret yearnings asleep
under so many stones that would use my skeleton
like a chime to sound their will upon my life.

I want to be the secret snake
that lives in the holes beneath the stones
and has swallowed them,
having mistaken them for eggs in the cold morning fog.
They would sit close to the ground in my scaly stomach,
never crumbling or blooming,
bitter and unabsorbed.