Why are you lying
Under the big summer trees
     In your flock of blood creeping?

I lie here, at rest,
On the side of the path
      Where the sky is green threatening—

But you sang no more
As wing slapped wing
       In some far away marsh

And a snake, I was sure—
Fixed an eye on the cause
       Of the moss

Buckled her green to the shade,
Told me what was come,
       Though it caught between

My brain and your blood
Forking never again
       Through lindens pale.

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