Читать книгу Spells - Annie Finch - Страница 16

TAROT: THE MAGICIAN CARD

Rain wets the wand, wind moves a sword,

lightning lights crystal where the thundering cup

forms me a channel and takes on a word,

pouring the pentacle I gather up.

Time carves the storm in the palm of my hand,

till it fills with shapes that send me down

through my river-body. Do I stand

at a table the waiting planet surrounds?

Through my own fingers, eyes, and palm,

and through other worlds, huge or small,

one fury spins and turns me calm;

I breathe and watch it land and fall,

holding what I hardly know or see,

filled with the storm that makes, makes me.