I see what looks like trouble,

something that doesn’t fit,

a writhing and twisting

near the new-leafed tree

as if two bare branches have fallen but live

their own lives under some dark curse.

What I find is a braid of two snakes

knotting and unknotting

their bodies, heads coral

like the flesh of an unripe peach

and slim cold muscle sliding,

skin countershaded to look

like double-braided rawhide.

Two coachwhips, oblivious

to the world and me.

I have seen single snakes

periscoping from the tall grass

but never two together like this.

So this is where their kind begins.

Somehow, I had never asked this question.

When they untie they fly away over the ground

like ribbons driven by the wind.

Let me tie a knot into the day;

let’s see if the love will stay this time.

I saw what looked like fear

but it was a wreath of beauty,

not disaster. Time heals everything,

everything, I believe it. Every wound

(except a mortal one).