Circling and circling, always the red-tailed hawk,
that totem, that alter ego, patrolling your skies,
whose shrill cry you mingled with your own talk,
who lived in the crosshairs of your merciless eyes.
And the python that wrapped itself around your arm-
you thrilled to the awful power of that embrace,
found in the ravenous coiling no cause for alarm,
as though the cold blood ran in your own face.
And the Venus Fly Trap-- how did you feel
when the bee blundered into its sticky maw?
You had no qualm, thought only of the meal,
as though compassion was not another law.
How then do I find my way? These tokens say
you are the predator. And am I then the prey?