After Rain 

After rain, the black snake, crushed on the road, crushed
to the road by the truck, dies in its own shape, snake-shape.
I want to pray. I want to pray to the god of snakes for the spirit
of the black snake crushed by the truck on the road. Everywhere
it is sour, everywhere it is sour smelling air. Later, the moon
will be a picture of the moon. I will talk to it anyway.
I will say, "I too have been to a place of no words, and I too
have returned to stare at men." Later, I will say, "But I will
take it anyway, for at least I know the things for which I long,
the even events, the eventual eventualities, the words that die
in their own word-shapes.” Later I will say, “Not forever is
the world a black snake. Not forever is the world the smell
of dark leaves bleeding acid into the black road."

- Joel Solonche