Exiting the underground, there's water
and sky and a saber-toothed cat, a satyr
disguised, ears flattened, jaw slack, claws locked hard
to the slimy scaly sides of a sea serpent.
Maybe it's Asherah, showing both sides:
Asherah, Great Lady who Treads on the Sea,
Rabat Ahiratu Yam, Ashirah,
the Lion Lady, Mother of lions,
Mother of All, protector of all,
fertility, humanity, flocks and crops,
but, look, the serpent tries to eat the cat
while the cat tries to strangle the serpent.
A flesh-and-blood gull, glad for winter sun,
stands still on the serpent's neck and ignores
the stone cold battle pitched endlessly below.
I stand as still, my feet planted firmly
on damp ground, recalling another day,
another struggle, another bird, snake,
another transparent blue blue sky day.
A small hawk had swooped down to grab a snake
slithering haplessly on dry cracked ground.
As the snake wrapped about its attacker,
the hawk's talon hooked the snake's open mouth.
Both struggled, neither could gain advantage . . .
Both were tired, neither loosened its grip . . .
until a shadowy god with a stick
freed the talon's hook. The snake slithered off
and the hawk flew straight up to endless sky . . .
only to be met by a larger hawk
The hunter becomes the prey.
The consumer, the beaten the eaten.
Is there beauty in that? Hard to say.