Swimming with Snakes

Robert Michael Pyle

Most of the snakes we see are dead. Flat
in the road, or maybe just the head clipped
by the tire, like the turquoise-bellied beauty
of a garter on my mail walk today.
Or the many black-tailed rattlesnakes
that night between Hachita and El Paso,
long backs broken, few of them whole and alive.
Which is why it was so sweet to see, wading
out of Joseph Creek, that little swirly snake
swimming between my ankles. Together
we climbed the pebble beach, then basked
companionably, the snake between my feet.
I took its brown reticulation for a gopher snake,
until I saw the viper head and two little rattles,
a third just growing in. Both of us warm and dry
in the sun, we parted amicably. Never to forget
(on my part) that chummy swirl together
through Joseph Creek.