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Diana and Actaeon's story
is told here on a pin of carved shell.
Tiny, he sees
her bathing, hunt-weary,
washing with heavy heart,
tiny,
too. Who knows why she
was sad even before she
was spied and the story
began. Not hart
yet, he's a shell
of a man, weary,
too,
from hunting. Hunter sees
huntress. No one sees
the vengeance she
heaps on the weary.
Tell no story
of Diana naked! Her words, her shell-
pink
skin, shock.. He knows them by heart,
instantly. Before he's hart,
divine vision marks him. He sees;
he knows. This fits on the shell
pin perfectly. She
is visible to all in this little story
carved by a weary
hand guided, perhaps, by thoughts of weary
chaser now chased, and the hart-
hungry hounds trained to a simpler story--
smell and kill. One sees
and the others follow. She
wills
it. She'll
fling the hot handful of water, she'll
watch him grow horns, weary
and speechless. She
will never know the heart
of the hunted as he. He sees
his
own hounds coming, the story
ending. The oval shell is worn over the heart.
What won't fit no one sees: The weary
animal
rendered. She's modest: that's the story.
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