The first was hidden
in the cave of Earth left behind.
He took up rocks,
and pelted – taking his chances -
with frequent stones,
this way and that,
here and there.
The second grew to another cave;
and sought out the Ocean stream.
With open mouth, a fierce dog’s fury,
the emetic potion -
nature’s honeyed drink -
drunk deep,
vomited up brothers and sisters.
The last took sudden flight,
and with the trident,
and with the thunderbolt
lay in the helmet of darkness.
At dead of night -
where no creature casts a shadow -
he is the wind that combs us.
