A length of rippled rope
lay in my road
but as I neared
it raised a head
testing my presence
with forking flicks.
I stopped still
in thrill of hate-love,
then watched as it slid,
a glide of liquid black
pouring itself
over the flower bed,
parting the grass beyond,
to disappear,
leaving me stunned
in beauty.
©2003 Constance Tupper