i. the serpent

She loved the stone-cold
ceramic tile, she willowed
away, curving to another form,
another life, where trees were
poor and flat-faced rocks
circled into basins
a faucet replaced the chill
of the river, with a never
moving H, teaching patience,
conservation, and a passion
never found in heat
she bent black hair, and
bit with frosted lips, she
shrouded me with frigidity, I
had the virtue of the glacier
the river flowed, and I
slept with tile, a wisp of
hair, and a gentle pale
Madonna, inside the crypt of
her temple, forgiving her as
God