Too late for me
to make friends of adders.
They banish me
from the midday heat
of their bracken slopes.
But his smooth visitors
quiet on a spring brae
trapped his mind in their curves
as he passed the shy spirals,
thin air and secret height,
cherished that picture
down beside flat walls,
pavements and schoolrooms,
contoured creatures in grass,
rocky corridors.
Their patterns, their brightness,
dry silk of their touch,
their fine animal dignity
as he learned their ways,
all these things captivated,
until he could breed them,
release their young – warden,
could shrug off the burn
of a flickering bite,
unlucky, unlikely.
This conversation
on a short car journey
expertly untwisted
my long-coiled fear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem