Eight of Cups
I search for signs of danger, for tentacles and claws
Yemaya waits, as at the shore I pause.
A long time it took to get here, and longer still to leave
Into eight cups I pour my sorrow, and the reasons that I grieve.
I take most somber inventory as day turns into night
For if the heart be heavy, how can the feet be light?
Yemaya watches as I stand upon her beach
I fill and count the cups, and stack them each on each.
On the shore I linger, as night turns into day
Then I draw my cloak around me, and turn and walk away.