"Wishing to gain Cassandra's favors, Apollo 
					promised to teach her the art of prophecy; she learned 
					the art but refused her favours; hence Apollo deprived 
					her prophecy of power to persuade." 
					Apollodorus, The Library, III.xii.5  (tr. J. G. Frazer)

		So. You are Apollo. Well, that's a new one. 
		As good a line as any to get a girl.    
		A godhead must be like a flowering tree, 
		open in every pore. But you 
		are closed in upon yourself. 
		Devious god, I see right through you.
		You guard the image that protects the space
		in which you hide, aloof and conscious godhead.
		Grant you your desire? 
		But I'm only an image in your dream, 
		an inverse reflection of yourself, 
		a bit of instinct, a bit of soil... 
		Love you?
		Foolish god, I'm a mortal girl, 
		I cannot love a consciousness, 
		perfection of a mind that is god.	
		Besides, I'm not a starry-eyed virgin from a story-book,
		although I may look like one to you 
		as I stand here discoursing with an emptiness, 
		the disembodied space that claims to be a god.
		We trade?...
		Lord of the lyre, master of song, lord of prophecy, 
		king of praise and of timely whispers,
		prove now that you are you, 
		and not an empty cloud begging for a shape.
		My wish?
		To have the future at my fingertips! 
		To have the power of your priestesses, Apollo,
		but without the laurel-chewing nonsense, if you please: 
		I'd get a headache from all the chewing. 
		Measure the price of my body in prophecy: 
		how many foresights am I worth?  Ah! Now!... 	
		Grant you your desire?
		Now that I am a goddess as much as you are a god?
		Who do you think you are kidding, lover? 
		The scales of the future are eloquent, delicate, quick. 
		A kiss, only one, don't ask for more. 
		I must go. To Troy, to tell them. 
		I owe you nothing, lord of good manners,
		god of  frost and diluted dreams.
		Back to your void, Apollo. 

(originally published in GODS AND MORTALS: MODERN POEMS ON CLASSICAL MYTHS, Oxford University Press, 2001)