The hidden fate line
Four witches sit infront of me and invite me to play
One mute, One petite, one deaf, and one destiny placed
Their card game is performed with straw and calm
Dealing several cards onto my palm
Sprig of wheat settles as moon pulls tides
In the palm of my hand parallel to the sun line
On hand skin where the fate line hides
They deal the cards out eyes lying
Strangely expecting me to accept every one
These hands collect but radiate the heat of sun
Deny the night it's cool alleviation
Deny the cards open intrepretation
They have me seated here far from the fields and fences
These hands of mine make me alien In their presence,
In lantern light, one pale, one freckled, one dark, one tanned
Each witch distributes the cards like fingers on a hand
Am I just the mount of venus?
A tadpole of the cosmos?
Or the gargantuan toad!
I handle the midnight farm.
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