In the rain you stood a shivering cast,
Weathering storms as would Atlas
On retreat. Many muses hole you fast,
But you strum their words on thread, tactless.
Apollo never rode his carriage
On the brink of midnight. You tried to,
Speaking like Ares about love and marriage.
I laughed then--you would fly through.
Did Orpheus brave the depths of Hell?
I thought it might have been you in black.
Trying charm with satyrs' songs, well,
They say to follow, never look back.
But in my own mythology, you--
Never god or king, but twice as true