The horns of my seeing
extend from the corners of my eyes
to embrace the furthest horizon.
I am the young bull,
I rock the heavens with my gait
as I walk the hills
I embrace it all, keeping it close
like an infant to my milky breast.
It is all mine
I hold it all in my encompass,
the lantern moon hanging from the vault,
the awakening of the sun,
it’s stretching bright and setting sleep,
are stretched round by the bubble tent called me
enclosing the emptiness within which
the four corners of the wind roar from me to me
through the firmament, the clarity
where once there was my head.