Do you have a note from a mythical woman? Please send it to me! All papyrus returned intact…
Lowing, I, with the sun between my horns
held like an acrobat balances a ball,
or a bull balances a Cretan dancer,
I bring babies, orgasms, answers.
Bring milk in clay cups, play
on the sistrum and the drums.
Remove your clothing, shake out
your hair, who comes here shamefaced?
Honour me, who can see above
the dipped horizon into foreign lands.
I hold my son in my womb
and take with glad hands gifts
from the ooze of the Nile.
Between the columns of my temple
women come, illuminated in worship
like the framed round sun,
which I hold between my horns.