by Brett Rutherford
After
Theocritus, The Greek Anthology
Muses the roses love
and thyme grows thick
where nervous poets lean
into sweet-clotted air
around Mount Helicon,
but where I climb
for healing and inspiration,
pulling behind me
some reluctant goat
dumb to the sacrifice
ahead of him — there,
no simpering flowers bloom.
Bay trees, leaves dark and sharp
cover the cliff entire.
Delphi means business.
Apollo expects no less than blood
as the horned billy-goat
quelled by the branch he gnaws
would understand
if he had half a brain.
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