This entry is part 65 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

Fresh from their hibernaculum
under the lawn beside
the stone well,

the male garter snakes
thread themselves into a throbbing knot
and pull apart, thwarted.

Where is she? They circle
like eddies of wind, old skins
whispering through the grass.

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  1. I like “hibernaculum.” That’s a new word for me, and that image of the snakes… wow.


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