Dreams

I understood.

Will it hurt? I whispered.

Will it hurt a great deal?

He lashed his tail. The air was the color of old telegraph wire.

Will it at least be quick? His scales winked yes. From somewhere smoke rolled in to cover him. Or was the smoke part of what is to come? Will it happen soon?

A small irritation in the glint from his eyes. In the world he inhabited, soon had little meaning. Once again I'd asked the wrong question. He began to undulate away.

His tongue was a thin pink whip. I had the absurd desire to touch it. Wait! How can I prepare? He swiveled the flat oval of his head toward me. I put out my hand. His tongue--why, it wasn't whiplike at all but soft and sorrowful, as though made from old silk.

I think he said, There is no preparation other than understanding. What must I understand?

Death ends things, but it can be a beginning, too.

A chance to gain back what you'd botched.
Can you even remember what that was? I tried to think backward.
It was like peering through a frosted window.

He was fading. A thought flowed over my skin like a breath.

But only if you seize the moment.

Only if-- Then he was gone.

Last night the snake came in my dreams again.