6. Propitiation

Propitiation

From the top of the hill one could think they were asleep,
But as we came down upon our fathers, we could see:
First, the moon-glint of goodness on the heaps, then
The love among them, grown crooked in the mouth.

We could almost tell where their souls came out.
Across Boeotia: not a woman, not a child is crying,
Not even in hunger as they sleep, dreaming their boys
Will bring back the goods. The first she-goat fell

And the mantis let her blood river down toward Pausanias,
The Spartan said Wait and one hundred and ten thousand
Of his own men waited because the blood ran wildly.
He sent for another and a boy younger than me

Dragged another up the slope, all pitch and prowess.
We imagine, now, a hideless heaven—or one with no need
For armor. Strip the loose bronze from the stiff leather.
Carry with me this or that hollow. No time for graves,

No time now to find our first births among them.
We are men now, stripped of whatever youth
The men pinned us to. There, in the thrush, one last
Animal beckons buck and belt. I hold you here

So that you may see among the glint of gods
Morning full of flock and scrimmage—for now,
Let us hammer the plates flat, shape them the rough shapes
Of who we will be when the goat gives herself calmly.