by Claire Cornaz
I saw them fall from the sky, on the wooden groundTheir faces were many, and rolled and rolled again.
Were one to look at their colourful armours
Of resin or metal
Of crimson, teal or violet shades
Bearing strange sigils to decipher
All would recognise avatars of fate.
Would three sisters pull or cut a thread,
A shy cobra judge over scales,
A foretelling crow fly in the air,
A tree’s roots woven by giant maids;
They would answer the call of such deities.
Could these multi-headed instruments
Offer a fruitful outcome
To this fateful
Wager ?