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Now it is noon.
At apogee of light, defined by sun, Patroclus finds his own apotheosis. He is man no longer - bronze. And Hector likewise - a rumor in the dust. Patroclus hunts. A warrior of the sun, he hunts his shadow. The moons of his fingers, the skin of his thumbs. His kidneys sucked by the heat. Joint by joint, concatenating bones Make cause compel effect, despite the gripe Which cramps the calf and crabs within the thigh. Sinovial fluid flows: his gait A lubricated stagger as he steps From swing of hip, from swing - Earth jolts beneath his foot, and sways, and then sustains. The plain of Troy has melted: in the blood's black heat Floats on a buckle-twist of air, a warp Of fluctuating heat made living vision. Now the sun sweats dry. Patroclus burns. Clatter by clatter, the shouts Scream frog amidst the chariots. Maimed by heat, Patroclus shuns and sheds, And bronze goes reeling. The helm of Achilles Falls to the hoofbeat thunder, Rolls to the fouling of blood and dust. Gaffed by the sun, Patroclus Kicks on a hook, and shudders. His eyes are blind: his mind A great fish breaching. Struck by a god, Patroclus reels, And seeks his footing in a chorus-cry of gulls: The wheeling voices of the toppling sea, Their discord shrill as arrows in their fall. Doomed down to his shadow, Patroclus falls, Falls in the roar of the toppling world As Hector steps and drives, As Hector drives his spear to kill, To take beneath the ribs and drive, To drive the great bronze blade To the heartbeat's stagger, home. And the reeling gulls Pull back, pull back and wing. Pull back to the wind's mock, to the heights Where Ida answers Samothrace And shuns the battle. White wings whipped to the sea's scud. The North Aegean foaming on the shore. |
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