In Winter in my Room

A Trifle afterward

A thing occurred

I'd not believe it if I heard

But state with creeping blood —

A snake with mottles rare

Surveyed my chamber floor

In feature as the worm before

But ringed with power —

The very string with which

I tied him — too

When he was mean and new

That string was there —

I shrank — "How fair you are"!

Propitiation's claw —

"Afraid," he hissed

"Of me"?

"No cordiality" —

He fathomed me —

Then to a Rhythm Slim

Secreted in his Form

As Patterns swim

Projected him.

That time I flew

Both eyes his way

Lest he pursue

Nor ever ceased to run

Till in a distant Town

Towns on from mine

I set me down

This was a dream.