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.