When she sits she is Kerridwen at the Cauldron.
When she stands she is Kali on the neck of Shiva.
When she walks she is Hecate of the Crossed roads.
When she covers me in her grace, she is Isis on the roof of the world.
When she curses she is The Morrigan of Spears
When she snarls she is Sekhmet the Strong.
When she smiles, she is the terror of a black hole.
In all things she is of the roads, the ways, the keys, the cooking pot, and the tomb.
And I am humbled before her, trembling, in the dark.