Crystal gazer

Gerd sits spindle-shanked in her dark tent,

Lean face gone tawn with seasons,

Skin worn down to the knucklebones

At her tough trade; without time's taint

The burnished ball hangs fire in her hands, a lens

Fusing time's three horizons.

Two enter to tap her sight, a green pair

Fresh leaved out in vows: 'Come tell

How we shall do together,

Well or ill.' Gerd slants a look at each: most dear,

Each to the other; fit fiber for stern weather.

Slowly she spins the ball:

'I see two stalwart apple trees

Coupled by branches intertwined

And, springing all about,

Staunch saplings; to this house, thriving days

Will bring crop's increase, and harvest fruit

Follow on kind wind.'

'No hardship then?' he asks. 'We'll take

Whatever trial's to come, so say true.'

His bride echoes his word. At that,

Gerd whirls the ball ablaze: 'Rough storm,' she grants, ' may wreak

Some havoc on tender limb, and yet

Strengthen that orchard thereby.'

Their small price paid, these wedded ones

Walk forth into sun-moneyed air, quickened

To savor their span of flourishing.

Aloof, squatting mummy-wise, Gerd scans

That clairvoyant quartz which once, at her own wishing,

Exacted her first simple sight for this strict second.

Then, a free-gadding hoyden, Gerd had craved

To govern more sight than given to a woman

By wits alone: to foresee her lover's faith

And their future lot, she braved

Church curse to ken that crooked oath

Whereby one hires a demon.

A flash like doomcrack rent night's black:

God's work stood anchored in that glare

Focusing all time's day-suns in one

So beggar Gerd might aim her look

At gorgon-prospects with power to strike to stone

Hearts of those who pierced time's core.

What Gerd saw then engraved her mind —-

Plague-pitted as the moon: each bud

Shriveling to cinders at its source,

Each love blazing blind to its gutted end —-

And, fixed in the crystal center, grinning fierce:

Earth's ever-green death's head.