Today’s poem was prompted by The Moon from the Shadowscapes Tarot. (Click here to see the card.)
Pitiless as she is beautiful, the lady holds my heart
in her hand – ransom or ante? – I cannot tell. I only know
I will not resist her, no less thrall than the flimsy creatures
she conjures out of mist and mushroom. She hides her face
in darkness, turns toward me mask within mask, ever false
to all the world, ever true to her mysterious self.