I owe you wholeheartedly,

with a high-interest rate,

my most beautiful lines,

my gut-wrenching poems,

words like crystal goblets

smashing against stone walls...

stories drenched in love,

stories hiding passionate joys,

characters shaped and built

to fit the city where we met,

the city with the dark river

and the old rusty bridges.

Our city lost you to the world

but regained me to bear witness

of her everlasting changes,

of our refusing to die story,

I am the priestess without a name,

forever lighting the torches

in some long forsaken temple.