“We shall overcome.”
Dance the rule of terror, grip the devil by the horn,
O Woman, whose artificer of wrath denounced the Bull.
Who prays, Priestess, for innocence? None, but
the wicked angels who foresealed the fable of unicorns.
Take stock then of seizures, equinox that will proclaim
the funeral of thunder, break of necromancy & chains.
In the reign of woods, the encountered beasts & angels
blast with their cossacks your bright flock of seers.
Moor. Let the hour of panic pass. Renounce the fall,
Forge the anvil’s song, & warriors in electric routes
shall navigate by stars to scourge the imperial brutes.
Thrust your wings. Guard the sacred oath, raft’s mast.
Draw the cosmos of hands & heart to lock the fatal lust
of King’s men at the door we, O Madonna, shall outlast!
From Personal, Impersonal, 1975