Well grown
I am the axe of two horns
born of beast hair
and her sharp flesh

The pretty mother
I heard tell how
she shines
how white, how white,
bedded like fire

Burning higher
it climbs higher
her horned silhouette

What is daylight?

Shine on me
They say the day
is white, but you
are white –
and night is bluer,
something bluer

and soft, Pasiphae,
two-horned mother –
Look – how these dark nights
you are slender

In your rounding lips I swell
in you bedded I shine
we grow fat

How these darker nights
you grow old
you shrink from me

I carry you in my mouth
I trot and bury it
in the curled bones of my nest