Hecatomb

one hundred oxen sweat  
in the Hellenistic sun  
odors of coriander
ambrosia in clay urns  
carnelian bangles  
on many wrists  
muscular breasts  
arc under tunics  
flashes of iron blades  
slash through  
outstretched  
neck-leather  
swords become sticky  
with liver-hued edges  
blowflies swarm  
to gurgling throat  
carved thighs  
drop from the heaviness  
of bodies  
are cast in the blaze  
blister and pop  
a roared gale  
of ten thousand  
forum spectators  
only sounds  
like an evening wind  
slicing through the emmer fields  
in Hera’s distant ear