She was magic,
not quite voodoo,
rising in the
remnants
of a heavy rain
right after it
drowned
the morning manna
in occult puddles
of whispered spell.
She was the gate,
not quite opened,
of heaven’s pearl
pulsing
with electric passion
from the purity
of a hidden
source
sanctioned only
to those
with hearts
that weigh out
favorably
against the feather.
She was the Pagan,
not quite Goddess,
carrying
a healthy dose
of earth
tucked
up her sleeve.
Source