O this is the animal that doesn’t exist.
They didn’t know that, and, in any case—
its neck, its carriage, and its gait, even
to the quiet light of its soft gaze—they loved it.
They didn’t know that, and, in any case—
its neck, its carriage, and its gait, even
to the quiet light of its soft gaze—they loved it.
Truly it was not.
But, because they loved it, it became
a righteous beast. They always allowed it space.
And in that space, released and stark,
it held its head up easily and didn’t need
a righteous beast. They always allowed it space.
And in that space, released and stark,
it held its head up easily and didn’t need
to be. They
nourished it without corn, with nothing
but the pure possibility that it could be.
And they gave the animal such strength
but the pure possibility that it could be.
And they gave the animal such strength
that it pushed a horn out
of its brow. A horn.
To a virgin it came then, white, nearby—
and was in the mirror-silver and in her.
Sonnet 4, Sonnets to Orpheus, second series
