slave of love when the whole event is conceived you turn the eye to the body. High
above you the falcon that doesn’t respect the rules
at every new turn narrows the circle to imagine you already seized on the rock:
my beak in your open heart.
Desire and predation blur together in "The Event." The poem opens by addressing someone called a "slave of love," who, once the whole encounter has been imagined, turns attention to the body. Then the view shifts upward to a falcon that "doesn't respect the rules," circling lower with each turn.
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