Tree Python

A small crowd looks up 
at the edge of the forest, 
houses only yards away,
lawns and dams and 
washing on the line.
Even as our eyes adjust
from sun to broken shade
we see nothing but trees
until, blink and you’d miss it,
a shadow half uncoils,
black tongue flickering
sifting our molecules. 


 




Published by colinhopkirk

Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.

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