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Even gods, though they were born
in our own heads, died out to myth.
Just as no one can point to the source
of the spring or later at sea can say: this
is the water from deep in the earth, that
flowed from the mountaintops, so
is the stream of mortals and gods.
About my origins I know
nothing. I married the earth, a child
grew in me, fell
out of me at last, and I
babbled: little mutt of mine, I’ll
name you, dunk you in invulnerability.
He smiled at me, held me tightly
by the heel and said mama.
Source: Poetry (May 2010)