Motif from the Labyrinth
In transit across vernal Thrace
a tumbril with a slaughtered bull,
tongue lolling in a carmine pool
the silenced clapper of a bell,
eyes faintly misted by death's chill,
a blue-jet sheen on haunch and flank;
the fields he grazed ablaze with April's
chalices of crimson.
Gore drips from the open dray,
the carcass jolting, impotent, horns
parodying thrust and tilt with lurch of wheels.
A white goat, bearded psychopomp, accompanies
the slain black beast - daubed for the votive
festival, scion of Pasiphae and sea.