Clouds thin into form: a hawk pulling a tail of rings -- beads of an abacus, the mathematics of light -- a lengthening spine, snakeskin no longer inhabited. All day I'm giving a name for what isn't there. Yet somewhere we've left our likeness, the hollow shapes of us. Even though the snake has slipped into the shade, the shed skin, deceptively whole, hidden in the sun-flecked grass, remembers what it once held. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 27 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AMORETTI: 15 by EDMUND SPENSER TO THE DAISY (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE EUMENIDES: THE FURIES' PRAYER by AESCHYLUS KNOWLEDGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE TRUIMPH OF ART by JOSEPHINE TURCK BAKER THE LEADY'S TOWER by WILLIAM BARNES |