Materia VII

after Yoshitaka Amano

i fall from a white horse and see a sky ending in the deep red
lion-helmeted god, his thighs are the movement
of fiery flame. He is a bird
and the sun, the law of its wheel turning over
the broadsword razor of his ride
burning nova

i, small made smaller
by the canopy of his shoulders,
curse my size in the alphabet of daggers

what fury enters me?

it is a cloud it is the sound of clouds it is a black horse,
a blue-eyed horse, a beam of horse, two-horse soul-eater,
the shadow of a wild horse in the wheatgrass
cocklebur loud:

i’m dressed in my victory yell / i must save my nation

in the conception of triumph i latch
onto his image like none other

spoked yesterday                             rhetoric

in the absence of language i hear
something i have been
and i am neither intimidated nor afraid

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