Scattered in the nostalgia of the times,
survive, live Delphi.
As ephemeral as it is eternal,
as recondite as hospitable,
as mysterious as it is revealing.

I reincarnate myself in that pilgrim,
two thousand five hundred years behind me,
I return to purify myself in the waters of Castalia,
I sleep in the open in the ravine of Pleistos
and I speak the usual gods,
from Apollo to Gea, from Zeus to Athena.

And I have a query for the Pythoness:
"To what heaven will my ramshackle being go
when the blackness devours me? "
I await the revealing tablet.

The priest arrives. He gives it to me.
"Your soul is the promised heaven."