Shedding Skin

Afield

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I don’t find snakeskins anymore,
but I used to as a child-
shed here and there
by some shiny sleek friend
that had already made his way
to a warm and quiet place-
a place rife with primal orders.
Each time I found a snakeskin,
it was like finding a treasure.
Nowadays, I’m in the wild
more than ever,
but there are no snakeskins.

Where have all the snakes gone-
all the treasures?

Have all the wonderful beasts
fallen further into the green-
into the sylvan whorl
that we can only whisper of
in the comfort of our houses
when we’ve spent the day outside,
scratching at the edges?
Have all the good and gentle things
hidden themselves away?

I want to be a creature
that smells of pine and lilacs.
I want to be a beast
that roams the woods and hills
and knows all the names
of the…

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