Limitless

Limitless
after Stanley Kunitz

All water is ancient.
All fire is new.

So says my twin flame, another Solstice behind us, as we stoke
the fire of Summer and spiral away toward September, my solar return.

Beyond that, only questions arise and circulate.

Does a snake stop slithering before she sheds her skin?

Does she will away or wash through untethered anxiety to slip
into stillness so unmoving she appears lifeless?

Would a snake enter a house without knowing who lived there?

Does she swallow moonlight to cool the sun?

Does a snake admire her bulging belly, full of prey,
like Mother Mary, full of prayer?

Does she grieve when it leaves her?

Does she feel love as a knot or as continuation of bloodlines?

Does a snake realize her pattern of scales as signature, her siren song?

Does she remember her collection of shed skins as symphony?

Does a snake accept that she is biodegradable?

When she devours her tail, how long does it take to dissolve her self?

Does a snake know nothing true burns away and nothing false remains?

Does she feel this to be true in the water of her searching tongue,
her piercing eyes?

Who has the answers in this place?

I mean, seriously…..