Language-snake

I'm not sure who said what at
the very beginning,
yet I do know that language,
although a beautiful beast,
has poison in its teeth
some of the time.

I've never been scared of snakes,
sometimes thought of having one
as a pet,
but I realize that's
out of the question.

I am scared of what's in
a snake's heart,
I confess,
and now's the time to clarify that
mistake.

Nothing's the matter with a snake's heart,
and everything is rattled in the language of
the human heart.

If you want to speak from a split tongue,
death in the tooth, and a glib body,
and a shiny skin,
and you're a snake,
I'll pay respect.

Put the same stuff together in a human
and I'm not so sure.
Better to avoid,
if you can.

I've crept around enough,
avoiding trouble, and putting up with
problems of pain that don't go away and
grow.

When I put distance between language and
living,
I can grasp why they made the serpent
responsible.

We can't do naked language, it's too
vulnerable. Cover up with fig-leaves, and
try to re-create your garden. That's serious work.

Yet I have a kind of snake in my
tongue. It knows more than I do,
and can say something that my body
is assured of.

I'm not sure if I'm a friend,
but I have no fear oof its coiling breath
and its cooling heat:
it's family of the dragon,
they say,
so I am hesitant.

When I attend to the language-snake,
it's not only about listening,
but also knowing what's looking
into your eyes.