Sandaled feet travel lightly
up gravel slopes and green hills.
A man approaches the Pythia with one wish.
The Serpent flicks its tongue.

The hill crests, and marble columns support
the weight of the world beneath a ceiling of stone.
The braziers cast glowing light, the temple whispers, and
the Serpent flicks its tongue.

With quiet ceremony he passes beneath
Apollo’s divine gate to seek the Pythia.
A priestess, beautiful as the spring, knows he arrived.
The Serpent flicks its tongue.

Into his future, the man must gaze
with the Oracle’s expensive sight.
“A terrible fate I have seen in whole,
which can only be healed with gold.”
The Serpent flicks its tongue.

The man turns away from the snake.
Its eyes glow red as rubies, its voice hisses in
the man’s weary ears. He leaves solemn Delphi
with no hope left in his heart.
The Serpent flicks its tongue.