a castle pastoral:

Was it rape —

the bull attacked Pasiphae as she passed?

Was it desire —

The god present in the bull’s breath?

Minos precipitated the act —

the white bull present in the bull ring.

That morning Pasiphae walked,

orange sunrise a glow at the world’s edge,

the first tamed animal snorts and movement,

in the distance the first sails

as fishermen left Crete’s shores —

Pasiphae’s bare feet cracked frost that early morning.

The bull-god in the forest waited, his breath

driven out of his overly large flared nostrils

like mist between sentinel trees; stirred The Queen —

liquid tease.

Minos gained the beast to crease

Athenian brow with rumours

of the unsolvable labyrinth —

the monster at its heart

who ate their young dancers.

As proof of lineage

Asterion’s feet and head were uncovered,

Pasiphae still white

and exhausted, ignored by her husband —

his eyes on the beast, proof

of the secret rendezvous.

The two in the birthing room —

silence and blood;

heavy breathing of the exhausted mother,

the bull-child removed,

the god absent —

what words can bridge

the distance between what you had
and what it now has become?