ALCHEMY

By Catherine Ronan

I bridle the snake moon to find you,

belly-crawl in your tracks so that

you will not know my trespass.

These battlegrounds are sad muds

of failure, sober-bald rejection,

strewn with half-eaten promise.

Our reptile souls stir from sleep,

destined to explode in the season

of darkness and slow growing fruit.

A thousand years peeling skinless time,

this is the alchemy of our Long Dance

but I still blush, at the apple, of my fall.

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