Myths of Poetry
The early words of poetry arose
From darkness in the depths of throat and lungs
In caves and mixed with burning air. The bows
And arrows in the shadows gave the tongues
That sang the blood and flesh which chanting needs.
Or else out on a plain where wary beasts
Might cringe away from stanzas, words like beads
Made jewels in the night beside the feasts
On kills. Or else a priestess riddled out
A destiny that chilled the flesh and veins
About a man killed by his son, about
That son who makes the marriage stains
In bed with that man’s wife, or more the spell
A poet prays to fetch his love from hell.