I learned how to reach into my own chest
and was surprised to find a snake
gnarled skin,
thicker than thin,
scales of bark,
not really wriggling.
I dropped it and it shattered
like fine porcelain leaving
a din and then an echo and then silence
like the rapping of my hand upon an oaken door,
seldom answered from hidden corridors.
Empty ramparts shadow even emptier
ravines. I will sit and meditate.
There is no need to clambor over
lavendar bricks that can not fit
even a human hair between - perhaps
giants reside here. Perhaps they'll share
secrets with me.