Not quite light and already the breeze is up,
like a rattlesnake bite on the east side of your carcass
moving west, and the rest of the night is down
a squirrel hole with no soul to tell
but the bees buzzing after it,
right to the bottom
of the world.
Had a dream like that once;
turned out war had been declared
and all the boys had gone in to enlist;
rattlesnake-bit, I stayed home to look at my fist
and refused to raise it — had seen enough,
if you get my drift.
Rattlesnake, take me home.
Rattlesnake, bake my bones in the blue light.
For a minute yet, my west won’t know
what your east has done,
but you can bet