Dead End

In the fall we heard horns of the ancient hunters
blare from under the arches The dowser
sat by the door
In front of Government House they burned kites Farther on
the statue was alone naked completely shivering on its pedestal
(the one that had endured so much to become a statue)
now totally forgotten secretly contemplated in the rock
a new amazing straddle that would draw
the hunters’ attention the butcher’s baker’s widow’s
disproving what he’d dreamed of the most: his unblemished
his glorified his made-of-marble comfortably crucified
motionlessness