It is snowing. The serpent that lives up
in the air must be cold. I feel sorry
for that serpent, for all snakes; snake worship
being out of style now. But the sleepy
serpent that lives in the air is my friend.
I’ll go and invite her in. In her maw
she holds all the hatred humans pretend
is high, mighty and righteous. The outlaw
knows a little of this. It is snowing.
Serpent, come down. Coil yourself in my bed.
Sleep the winter away. I am fluent
in old parsel tongue. Girls night in, laughing
the long winter nights away. Lay your head
here. Relax, Manasa, my dear serpent.