My son and I scout out circles 
skimming the murky shallows of the pond,

        shells no bigger than silver 
        dollars, yellow-striped necks electric 

                under the midafternoon sun.
                Downshore, I wander a jagged 

heap of limestone, leap
back at the sound of a slither,

        glimpse black leather
        skin sliding under shadowed rock.

                Should I tell him this is the way it goes?
                You can spend your life searching

for only what’s sweet, and still,
you might step on a snake.