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"Just So"

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A second hill comes into view,
     The Acropolis,
     home of the gods
     when they're in Thebes.
 
     White stone shrines and temples
         glow like orange hearthstones
         in the dawn light.
 
But what does one say to a god
     outside of their shrine?
What should I say to Hermes
     as he runs at my side.
 
         "So," I say.
 
         Just so.
 
Hermes smiles.
 
     "So," I say again,
         and dig for more
         in the rocky soil of my mind.
     "So you are the patron of journeys."
 
"So,"
     says the god of the winged helm.
"Just so.
     And you are a child of prophecy."
 
     I shrug,
         as best as I'm able,
         between running steps.
     "I am,
         if one can believe Apollon's fortune-teller."
 
Hermes smiles again.
     His lips draw tight on one side.
         That way he has.
     I can say that now.
         It's that way he has,
         which I have now seen twice.
 
"But what use have I for prophecy, child?
     I am master of the tossed knuckle-bones.
         My gamblers see
             all possibilities
         while my brother's seers
             are blind to all but one."
 
         "Oh," I say.
 
         Just oh.

BE A DEMIGOD!

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