Scrying Game

I offer
Salt water libations
On a bed of ash and sand
Ring the bell and begin the chant
With mirror mounted and
Nag champa smoke curls
Floating in the air around my head
Into the heart of myself
I scry
Far beyond the borders
Deep beneath the layers
Of cold iron and reinforced glass
I hide
From the enemy
Named
Me
Decades of debasement
Have sullied the foundation
Of a form once ethereal
Lack of devotion and consecration
Have lead to cracks and rot and rust
In the rafters
In the eaves
On the grounds
I fill
The crevices with molten gold
Stricken with sorrow and hope
And retreat
To keep watch
Once more