A Poem for Rattlesnakes.

Yesterday , thinking little of it

I filled my pockets

with the shed skin of rattlesnakes,

which I collected from the crooked maw of the boulder den in which they pass the cold of winter, held underfoot in torpid masses

This spring, by the light of dawn, I will go to receive them

in their morning basking and give my thanks for this earthly reminder of their teachings Some say it is foolish to walk in the tall grass of their kingdom in the first warmth of the year,

when they are leanest and short of wick - but I trust the wisdom

of the rattlesnake, in remembering still the ancient language of their millennia old pact made with buffalo and horse, by graceful quaking making known their boundaries,

and avoiding a fight

This truce, one of many,

elusive to the memory

of my kin

Still, though the cost

is often her life,

rattlesnake makes music to remind us