mountains / on the death of gods

by Matthew Stokdyk

on helicon i wept
at the garden
untrimmed by music;

if birdsong were enough
i would never have begun
to sing.


on parnassus i laid
(still do)
drunk on the fumes

of all i already knew,
our thread held taut
at the last moment.


and on olympus i looked
weeping bitterly
for i could not return.