Hugh Cook, 'The Death of Achilles'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

The Death of Achilles

Turning on the blade of the sun
He feels no pain.
He counts it all as illusion.
Existence was a cobweb's whisper.
And now he is nothing, and knows it,
The sky
Darkening to extinction as he falls.
On his knees he is an avalanche still falling,
But is dead by the time
He bucks to the earth and rolls.
The echo of his cry
Lives half a moment after Achilles.

by Hugh Cook