Little mouse, lying white on your side
like a child in a christening dress—

I’ve thawed and placed you to wait
on the flat, rock altar, but snake 

isn’t interested. He sniffs once, 
tongue flickering like flame,

then slides back into the shavings,
concealed again. It’s as if we prayed

and God did not come. Or came, but turned
His face away, refusing to take the child’s

whole spirit deep into His devouring shape
and free it. As each mouse released

by generous jaw and steady squeeze is freed
into the great, gliding goodness of snake.