Serenity, tranquil on arches of gold;
A sleeping silk-caressed moon,
Composed in a sweltering sky
Of burgundy and fire.
A silhouette stands, sure and aloof,
With hope emanating bright.
Is it a sacrifice to the shifting sands,
Or the triumph of a merciful god?
This figure, expectant, impatient with fate,
Is gifted an elegant shadow
Made long by a generous sun,
Which sleeps for its sister to wake.
To wake to a form diminished by dark,
To a secret hushed still by the night,
Kept secure in a masculine tower,
Behind a door that few find, and less enter.