Should we now mourn our souls?
The rot of time brings all to justice.
CHILDREN OF THE DRAGON
At the borders of the pond we unearth white snakes at the
edge of waking
Still in their shells, twin egg teeth glistening
Stowed among the wet mats we have come to take,
Children of the dragon sunning herself high above
Whose spined scales we collect.
If she notices us
And our disregard for her clutch
Her fury is silent.
Perhaps she knows she is older than we can ever be
That she will go on laying for more years than our lifetimes
And that she will devour us whole one day.