And feel my legs, tuned to the rivees magnet, follow,
Hum solid, changingly, like urns struck hard
'Being filled, and light hom the
~rch
of a headless god
Binds down the trees of the abyss.
Behind my throat, a Presence
Is hooded out with bones, is trembling with whiteness
As
white as the bones, between the bones:
In that dry, sparkling field under daylight,
Under the half-watered air
Of the strangling swimmer,
The current throws scars from the heart of lightning
Into the Hunt, and I leap
Up the branched channels of a vertical wind.
Death flickers light and broken: the thickets stream:
Above, her legs are shattering right, she pulls:
Form and Vigor
Tear out her saliva and rope it to the banks.
A hound passes its tongue through my shoulder–
My horns lift him, he staggers, his legs flail
The dancing sun of water, and I stand, at last,
In hiding, my antlers tuned to the dark of the wood,
And the sprinters with their lances pass,
Cleansed with young steam and honey,
As
she beats back panic through the slow, clear wall:
Where my new, flowing flesh stares up,
She flogs toward the bush of the drinking deer
Whose stripped shadow under the stream, moveless,
Ceremonial, hung with dead leaves and dry
Sparkling, carbon and moonlight,
Draws with
his
patient gaze
Her lines of force from the spring
To the sea, through her nipples,
And through the kick of her arms
His stone ear runs and runs
Over the whole river, and a wheel
Meshes emptily there, with colorless flowers.
