The Lore of Adept Cassiopeia of the Mount

Trees of orange blossom, bright as silk,
as knightly banners shining on the hill,
as my own little slime-helper. The milk
of unicorns. I sometimes taste it still
as I practice my magic on the Mount
and think back to old times. I shake my hair,
and give thanks to my ancestors—the fount
of hidden secrets. Still I hear them there
with bowl and pestle, working as I sleep
and dream my childhood dreams. I am the flag
of future—memory so vast and deep
that when you try to keep it in a bag
and carry on, defying chant and rhyme
it wriggles free, stands proud of place and time.

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