I sit in the chamber filled with psycopomp
the remberance of a saint,
fat and smiling.
a shadowy god in an alcove
Christ on his cross with
the arrow and the stag,
the circle of salt.
I closed my eyes while the candle burned,
regulated my breathing,
and reached out to the scattered tarot
that lie to my right.
Grasping a card, eyes still lidded,
I felt sure what I had in my hand was the fool
I opened my eyes to find the world
At that the candle flame died down to
the barest blue hue
So many empty days
between moments of understanding