“Fortuna”
Three masks swirl in opposition,
Between their frames is static starlight,
One is solidified by blue orbitals,
Fierce is my unforgiving storm of Tlaloc,
Within his temple is my lost cave,
A pool of water moving in temperance,
The second face bawled by wood,
Remnants of moss fleece by a spryness,
Deception creeks upon his nature,
Why must you tempest me Nordic Loki?
Trice in their background is a third,
This undiscovered ether made of stone,
Resting vaguely among the R and R,
A smirk of self-reliance, liquid sunshine,
In emotion of nightfall, my Fortuna.
