What pleasure a question,

not an answer. She leaned

into the apple tree, which then

was evergreen, to the snake’s

hands, sweet flesh, no need

to be ashamed. We share

and share alike, the peel

not loose like night on day,

but tight. She took the snake’s

hands, diamondbacked,

and opened its question.

It was the first time she had

something to give, what

the man couldn’t take, the first time

the man said please:

please let me have a bite.

He found the iron ore

and brought it home.

He found the coal under

the forest and lit it on fire

to watch it go

so the snake couldn’t catch her

if she fell and she couldn’t

hold anything but its tongue.

Never let the fire go out or else,

he warned, and she held on.