The Snake

The snake nuzzles softest ground
tongue flickering rose and heat
body shifts its head around
bores down beneath my feet
vanishing but for the hole
it's made—and as fast backs out
its body, head—a squirming mole
the mouth ingests; I cannot doubt
that dying lump now in the throat
all so slowly swallows down
a preciousness now gone remote
hope’s blossom wreathed in brown