Initiation

To the violet waters
I shall go.
My tender flesh
will steep in the
vat of initiation.
I deceive those who remain,
claiming the same
shall return.
The northern blue poet
weaves the symbols.
Now my hair
dissolves
into a warm sea
of amethysts.
Outside, they pray
for the plague to cease,
but I too murmur prayers,
whispering,
sinking,
descending.
Outside, they strive to decode
and manipulate the cipher,
but who can unveil
the silent laughter of a heretic
immersed in the cauldron
of her own heresy?
My prayer
is futile,
I know.
For I only know
how to dissolve into stars
again and again,
and return anew,
again and again.

*

m.p.