And I Am the arrow,
The dew that flies Suicidal, at one with the drive Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning. (26-31)
In these last few lines of the poem, the speaker imagines that she's shed her body, that she's become an arrow, that she's at "at one" with the power of her horse. This isn't a real, body-buried-six-feet-under-ground kinda death. She's imagining a more metaphorical death, one in which she transforms. To put it in happier terms: it's kinda like the death of the caterpillar who becomes a butterfly.