She is a witch, but not of western flair;
traveler in a bubble,
hint of gum about the hair.

Moonlight anima seers with the fullmoon;
football Venns with all life forms:
no animals on the spoon.

Uncork the laughter and her nose will twitch;
darkness clears the four corners:
a relic, not a vestige.

Calmness of craft lies in the eye of storm.
Modernity feels a draft—
for her: Notus is the norm.