Scrying

Head held skyward

She intones the sacred rhyme

Silver glinting at her throat

Dagger in hand

The daughter of time

Gazes wellwise

Alert for future echoes

Ripples gifted

From mother to loyal acolyte

Still and quiet

And forgetting her own name

She drinks deeply and

Accepts the burden

Imbibes the water

Which has turned to tears

Swallows them

To make them whole again

(June 2003)