I feel them all,
These whispers without whispering,
As they rattle secretly -and not -
Around this real-ether world.
We’ve never been face-to-face
Yet, disturbingly, and its opposite
She knows me so well.
There are moments, she says
Without speaking when she hangs
On my words. There are days,
I know when I am held in thrall by
Her brutally innocent intuits:
Questions without marks.
“Were we not more whole,
More in touch, when we respected
Those who commune with serpents?
When we recognised the snake as
Healer rather than nightmare?”