Deep Lane.
Who's black and yellow signature unscribbling itself
across the path.
The striped snake in the garden loves me so fiercely
she never comes near.
She hides in the stacked flat stones all day
and hopes a little sun will find her there, just a little.
She's my mother come to look in on how I'm doing,
my secret advocate, deeply indifferent, entirely benign.
If I dose myself, she won't care.
She wants me to be happy.
She wants me to take the course I take.
She stands in a perfectly neutral relation to desire
like a star.
She doesn't hold up the cup and say drink.
She doesn't tell me to put it down either.
If I say goodbye to everybody, she loves me
or doesn't just the same.