Tarot Woman

 

Tarot Woman

The Tarot Woman

Sitting at the round table

Her hands reach into empty corners

Pulls back the dust storms and heat

And important small news for you.

It doesn’t matter she never gets up

But lives there as you do

The light pours from her into a shallow bowl

That is always full

Drink as much as you can there is more.

It burns the lips

Drives away the illusion

You are not there

Effortlessly

She shuffles you into her pack of cards

Of idiots and wise men

And the magicians are restless as dawn

You learn what comes as often as tomorrow

Is an empty coffin which you fill

Up with your body

And bury each night.