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William Matthews - The Snake
Work rating: Low

A snake is the love of a thumb 
and forefinger. 
Other times, an arm 
that has swallowed a bicep. 


The air behind this one 
is like a knot 
in a child’s shoelace 
come undone 
while you were blinking. 


It is bearing something away. 
What? What time 
does the next snake leave? 


This one’s tail is ravelling 
into its burrow— 
a rosary returned to a purse. 
The snake is the last time your spine 
could go anywhere alone.
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