RELAX INTO THE KILLING

The Sun’s hand on the green ram,
Your fingers cut the sky an obelisk,
Sharp yellow and violet shade
Curling around your neck-
The solidness of dying.

The construction of the centuries
Is worth your admiration now,
That staggering of braided horse legs
One in front of the other and pass it over again,
The way a woman walks.

Along the back of your hand
You feel the hem of the afternoon’s blue wingspan,
The flowers curling inwards
Folding up their stone corners,
Knuckles cresting.

Relax into the killing-
The bows are only tied around sand,
Remember that in your mouth your tongue ran
Over the bounce of the saddle
Tasting the Sun’s sweat under his carnelian ring.

It burrows into your neck and shoulder now,
The metal of his thigh,
Your own hot hands crossed over your own hot waist,
The smell of Always
Turning with the Sun.

Air in your throat for the last time,
Relax as the dead relax-
Flowers curling in their innards,
Their painted eyes the green of the green ram,
Shut and happy.

Tied around you in a bow
Is that missing spot a ring makes,
Solid as the way a woman moves-
And you bounce too now,
Your fingers cutting the sky an obelisk.