Lonely Crow created the gods for playmates--
But the mountain god tore free
And Crow fell back from the wall-face of mountains
By which he was so much lessened.
The river god subtracted the rivers
From his living liquids.
God after god--and each tore from him
Its lodging place and its power.
Crow struggled, limply bedraggled his remnant.
He was his own leftover, the spat out scrag.
He was what his brain could make nothing of.
So the least, least living object extant
Wandered over his deathless greatness
Lonelier than ever.
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