Before My Mother’s Diagnosis, I Dreamt of Snakes

gliding out from storm drains, squeezing
through high-voltage fences, silent crossings
in the back room of our old apartment,
shadows knotted under draped sheets.
My fear kept watch through a hooded gaze,
taken by a bird with the rounded head
of a snake I could not name. I looked down
at my lap & saw diamonds. I called for help
& my voice was clear. No one came,
but the water pipes bulged
with a kind of limbless music. A camera
rose to meet my eye: I clicked
the front curtain open. An oceanic breath
began—& the thickening ground shimmered scales—