A veiled nun counts off her prayers.
Old-age bends her low yet rapture uplifts her.
Angels are tamed and quote germane scripture;
they flap about heaven while flying the nave.

An iron gate is barred at night.
Black and white columns guard Amun's altar.
Young women dance as blood pours on fire;
they quiver like rattles, foretell in lost tongues.

A cold spring wells from lush moss.
It's shadowed by jungle, hidden by nature.
Wooden cup here and remnants of homage:
bread crumb and fruit rind, tinge of red wine.

I dwell in the faithful, the god-touched, the chalice.
I speak through clairvoyance that knows beyond word.
I am the cloistered, the yin dark still virgin,
cloaked with blue ocean, crowned by the moon.

The Hanged Man
Death
Temperance

The Devil
The Tower
The Star

The Moon
The Sun
Judgement

The World