You tell yourself you won’t give up.
Burdened with a lust and a fear
and the entirety of this moment.
Has it come too soon?
Why is it now
that a weight like a lead eye
descends into your stomach’s depths?
And you must become
her thousand scented fires,
you must pilot both these loaded souls
to the shrouded tower.
Ill-starred, you’ve set out
with things you don’t need,
reasons, images, language,
plummeting sadness invades,
and you tighten the reigns
of your equine body.
But you are not yet animal
to her responding roar.
You plunge your paths into her,
straight and familiar,
See how suddenly the undulating pain,
the breaking joy unravels them,
beneath a billowing undergrowth.
See the strange cats that
weave in and out of realization,
that come devouring children.
How at last you have
journeyed into no territory,
and are no conqueror.