The ferryman came and whispered
in my ear, asking if I would like
to visit that town I might not ever
see again but in my dreams—
I said Is that your first question?
for I knew no one could gain passage
without a token— And he laughed
and patted the grey hollow between
his shoulders, saying Come, sister;
in the trees the leaves are lit up just
like lanterns, and your face is a tarot
that still points all ways but one.
In response to Via Negativa: Mare Desiderii.