Classic Poem

No snake in springtime ever felt the yearning
More poignantly to slough, to crack, to pull
The hated, hardened, drying, all-confining
Skin from the flesh, to reach beyond the bounds
Established by the petty planning blood,
To reach beyond, to grow, to feel the scratch
Of earth on sensitive membrane, to feel, to feel
Again, heat, cold, rough, fluid, solid, smooth,
To pass through daze and blindness and contortion
Into a tortured peace, no snake in springtime
Felt ever wearier of his seasoned armor,
The supple definitions of his strength.