Candlemas

Black and red,

a checkerboard of marbled tiles

in this dark temple,

I feel the night breeze

in the rafters of my soul.

The chant is soothing,

minor keyed and meditative,

but it conjures

thoughts of magic.

Am I blessed or cursed with a gift

of science so ancient it has no name,

subject to different laws, wider boundaries.

Does it reside in me,

or am I but a tool of its crafty rendering?

I call out in the darkness,

and bid the specters rise…

 

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