POEM: The horns of a young bull
Antinous is the moon tonight.
He is an eager crescent, sharp and bright,
reaching for the sleeping bulk of Selene,
his bride, curled beneath her dark blanket.
He is a bull with horns ready to challenge
the dark. He will toss the stars over
his shoulders, he will gather them up
like fruitfall, he will scatter the dew
of his semen on the sleeping earth.
Antinous is awake. His breath forms
oracular clouds in the crisp night air.
He strides across the heavens
sinuous as a panther, shaking his head
crowned with gleaming dark curls,
leading lovers home, and so
he climbs into bed when his work
is done, laughing softly to himself.