These are mysteries:
the magic cast
by the light of the full moon;
the flower deeply rooted
in the bones of the earth.
and the raised fist of struggle,
of conflict. The holy path taken
through this city of pitted and crumbling stone,
and all those that would walk it.
The Keeper of myth.
Truth that is held sacred by both
warrior and priest.
The joy and despair of love,
the gap between waking
The single stroke of
the artist's brush,
the secret held in stone,
the crafted, final word of the poet.
The inch of pale skin, exposed and vulnerable, glimpsed through the chink in her armour.