goes up through the white and copper-topped
tunnel of my eye and enters the basket of bone,
we are no chimera the ancients ever dreamed.
At once too mundane and too fearsome.
At once too separate and too dependent.
There is more to say, but my speaking
is done with me. The goat screams, I vibrate.
My screaming is done. The first horn I hold
in my hand like a dagger clasped by the blade,
black-blooded at the base, whisper of fur
lacing the ripped edge. I’d only wanted her
to stop lying.