The Bull above the Village

All through
The hot afternoon
You lay still,

A king, resting
At his ease,
Watching
A pale man rise
From the horizon,

Thinking the presence
Of his small heartbeat
Might anger
You, who had,
From time’s start
Owned this acre
Pressed by heat,

In the way of kings
You were kind,
Let your horns
And hooves sleep,
Only sent him on
To where waking he had aimed at
A little smaller than before

December 2003.