A Celtic Cross upon the table
a card for every grace
Her hands turn them, one by one
Answers I am to face
The Fool begins, a youthful card
a sharp look in her eye towards me
A boat with swords and a riverman
I wonder what she sees
Her wheezing breath brushes my face
Not foul, but sage and thyme
As the Queen of Cups faces me
I wonder if she hears my mind
At long last, the final card
The Lovers, and Do I see?
she asks, voiceless, but I can hear
Blue eyes, and then I leave.