III: (Hermes/Mercury’s) (Re/) Interpretation

Now to Dionysus, alone among barren rocks,

comes his brother the glistening traveler Hermes

silvery from sky’s cirrus frost. “Zeus sends me,”

he says. “Let me interpret your father’s augury.”

As he speaks Dionysus recalls the eclipse—

shining day blotted the color of blackest caverns.

Hermes holds the shaken man’s shoulders a moment,

says, “You will win the Indian War.” And again,

“You will win. You are the rising sun who returns.

Not the tragic child Phaëthon, who flogged horses

across the heavens so fast the firmament capsized

and the boy, like your omen’s snake, fell into water.”

Dionysus replies, “Say more about Phaëthon

whose sisters still line the riverbanks and weep,

turned into bowed-down willows with teardrop leaves.”