(from a poem I've been working on, idea generated from snake lore of northeast georgia)


Storytellers


A different imagination attacks the problem. Frozen snake, headless,
Singing. You cannot imagine how cold. Too cold to adorn
The eye pits, hold the jaw or inspect for hidden feet. Feet out of
The neck, the not-neck. You think you cannot hunt a thing
With song is the problem. You cannot behead the headless or the
Bodiless or the adorned. Song reminds itself of mouth, thawed,
Filled with skin. Mouth reminds itself of skin. The imagination
Strung through the problem, hung from a pole long as wide.
The imagination ornaments and will later burden the mantle.
Where rat is the arrangement is also frozen and itself arranges.

*****