Imperatrix

There she sits,
Her exposed position hidden;
Yet there are those who say:
This fortress is stone, heavily defended.

The light shines —
Her hair has silvered in the dawn;
A moving chessboard, she
Wars against herself, both dark and light are foes.

Morning falls.
Her enchanted mountains cut glass;
Dreams do not go beyond
The winter treeline, the death of grass and hope.

Noonday sun:
Her scourge is self, her back is torn
Which once made water weep:
Nothing is as bright as opening one’s eyes.

Weathering,
Her temple turns, gold into bronze.
Pyramids have nothing
Better than her opening sarcophagi.

Time is time
To go; she wastes none here which can.
The graves were empty, void;
With the rain, a desert is the place of life.

There she goes,
Nothing more is hidden with it.
The storm is gone behind her.
Her steps are hollows the hallowed wind sweeps clear.