I dreamed I held a book beneath each hand,
From which a snake and rabbit formed.
The snake wound all about my arm,
While the rabbit warmed my palm,
With its tiny heartbeat and its feather fur,
Fragile and soft as a whispered word.
And all this time I warned the snake,
Not to swallow that tiny life.
I pulled the rabbit from the snake’s glistening throat,
Pressed my warning finger to his blunt reptilian lips.
He coiled a sinuous crown about my head,
Loyal and attentive to each word I’d said.
I walked through a forest that led back to my room,
And as I walked I pushed that rabbit into my heart,
Let the snake writhe deep into my spine,
Then filled up with pure light,
I wept with joy that I was theirs, and they were mine.