Dragon’s Tail

Yellow crinkles under feet,

the stems of leaves,

damp from the recent rain,

but you walk down your asphalt

driveway to get the mail.

The limbs of gray trees,

empty of their leaves,

whistle to the wind,

but you sway your hips,

a shimmer of red cloth.

The mailbox clinks open,

pulling out crisp envelopes,

twisted from journey,

but you turn back around

to slip up the hill.

A whisper smooths its way

from the glide of your feet

to the crunch of tree petals,

the orange burn curling,

but you just slither on,

the click of blue scales,

shifting under your dress.