The steam of his colossal breath materializes
amid the rain. In any case, we both know
neither of us will stir in this downpour,
even if we get soaked. In any case, I know—
though the fire spewing from his rump jolts the air,
he will not go down to the water before I have reached a safe distance.
Even if he goes mad with thirst, he doesn’t want his body to be
transformed
into a cruel, petrifying terror.

A motionless bull stands frozen
in the forest opposite.
He doesn’t want to test his strength on a poor soul.

To make peace with his inner organs,
he has escaped from some place in the world and now stands
at the edge of the forest. In one of man’s countries,
in the wide geography of those who enjoy beating on a giant body,
they have slain him without mercy. They’ve shut him in the dark,
dug out his nails, slit his throat
using knives that veil cowardice with ornaments.
Only when his strength was depleted did they take him out among the
crowds,
and with the lie of equal combat, made laughable his greatness.

Humanity lusts over the fall of great bodies.

Knowing what would happen to him, the bull endured.
A bull that knows he’s strong as a bull
prefers the worst kind of torture
over using his strength to taint open spaces with blood.
At the edge of the water, the bull now knows:

To the truly powerful,
power is more hateful than weakness.

A bull prefers to lock his strength in the most hidden parts of his flesh.
He implores all creatures
not to make him show
that which he regards as ugliness.

Only an unrivaled bull’s heart would stoop
to pleading with hyenas in order to hide his power,
in order not to take part
in a nauseating battle.

Now I must climb a tree as quietly as possible
and let the bull head toward the water.

The bull reached the calm waters’ edge
with surprisingly light steps—allowing, of course,
the frogs to retreat to a safe and acceptable shelter,
the swans to move to the opposite shore without straining their necks.
The bull, whose compassion is as large as his strength,
dipped his nose into the water’s smallest, most contented spot.
He drank the water with silent appetite,
awash with the value of drinking,
grateful to the raining sky.
Then he lifted his head, looked at the poor soul on the tree, and smiled.
Can a bull
smile
so sadly?

A trickster god must have sent him here to put to shame
all the creatures that want to frighten their surroundings, but are too
weak.

Leader not of those who can’t win, but of those who choose not to,
the bull frolicked upon the earth like a lamb.
Flinging his frightening, heavy body to the sky,
he celebrated his reunion with a meadow
where his body would not be turned into a terror.