Galadriel's Mirror

In the dead of night
Summoned from my sleep
Your thought rouses me,
your insistence in my head.

Following your lure
My furry bare feet
Barely touch the ground.
They embarass me,
White Lady,
faced with the splendour of your beauty
silent beside your well.
And yet excitement,
chaste of necessity,
mounts in me.

Your hand deals out the water that gives vision.
In its purity my child face
Is mirrored among the stars.
Then knowledge like a blast
Springs from the well,
showing me things I never knew I yearned for,
showing my things I never knew I feared.

Trembling,
I give my being
Entirely
Into your hands.
Reading desire,
where barely you
yourself acknowledge it.
Scorching desire, yet
your wisdom
Reins it in.

So we are left
United here in longing
You, for the sacred wellspring of your being,
I, for the Blessed Island
Of my death.