Serpents

 Like serpents they writhe
entwined as the vine on the wall,
on which they lean,
crushing leaves and fruit
ripe and bright and drowning
knowing not what to do.
Nature in her naked glory
demanding more of each
the world upside down . . .
The butterfly brought them here,
its chrysalis broken wide
and shell discarded;
pink wings where once was dark.
Antiphonal songs from lark and deer,
watching beasts foreswear to tell,
leave the lovers by the vine,
unwinding from their bliss.
Grapes to slake their thirst,
naked now and ever more.