The white goddess beckons again. Through fire, sometimes, I glimpse her commanding radiance. She appears as shadow, as the one who stands beside. They give her many names, and grant her second place. She remains silent, except when the waters burst the bounds of earth.
Pyres are hers. Everything that blazes before it burns is hers. I am hers, though I ask her to wait. I tell her I wish to know that which I shall gladly then renounce. But she waits, imperious. Oh, let me sing, sing now! Now, before I go out like a splinter, whimpering ‘Oh! let me wait…wait for me…’