Returning to the nest.

The young copperhead is all alone. It is a river running back to its nest, a brown headband that knows the inside of everything. With gasoline, the men blow it to high heaven.

I am alone, the world runs through me, charred pit for a mouth. My words keep secrets from running home.

All lives I have lived live still, in a nest of ribbons. They lie over each other, sisters & brothers of one house, quarrelsome & loving. They weave no finished plait.

In one life, there is a boy left out in a game of hiding. They must find the nest & join it, not telling the secret. The sun is cold & reptilian running home to the stars. Once there were many boys. Now he is last. Running alone.

The last life runs home through me with its secret powers. It skitters frantic to escape the final conflagration. Its love is feared. I say prayers for the youngest. I do not say where the nest is or who will find him there.