In the emerald of the evening
I was devised in the celestial ether,
within a shooting star,
viridescent blood,
rich with tungsten
refracting, polychromic,
frolicking in Sunna's light.
Cherished amongst the crows,
and Mani,
who cradled me,
and called me bairn,
'til the coal of you,
hands calloused from digging,
scratched me out of Folkvangr,
inset me into your lavalliere,
wore me like a talisman,
an owned guardian,
a chained healer,
caged,
as if my pastoral viridescence
could mend the sedimentary solitude.
Envy laces into black rings
around sorrowful heavy eyes,
the mantle of you only able to burn
into polluted clouds
that fashion cold, resistant, steel
but nary a pip of a plum.
Weathered and worn as I may be,
I remain the fagr-gim,
and you will persist in your burning,
residual heat, sulfur,
never aflame, simply fume,
until the yearning fossilizes,
and only aska remains.

They worshipped him,
the 'Light bringer'
who chased beams across the sky,
golden chariot blazing,
the harbinger of warmth.
Even the moon
wears his reflection,
basking in the borrowed silk.
But I was born of the Earth
and Sky,
christened with the crowns
of above and below,
finding loveliness in pomegranates;
their blood red juice
staining my lips,
speaking the wisdom
of snowdrops.
They idolize the sweetness
of summer,
the thrill of the hunt,
dancing with grasshoppers
in wide-legged denim,
middle parts lined like August's geometry.
Laughter curls in my throat,
purring deep amongst the graves I've planted
with flowers.
A thousand daffodils will bloom again
in clay where a thousand silvered tears
are wept.
What beauty can be found
in a star
without the inky stillness
of the pressing dark?
You worshipped the sun,
and do not see the beauty
embodied in my night.

She strummed the edges
of bound golden leaves.
They whispered promised secrets,
shuffling beneath her thumbs;
blank pages,
ghosts of tree ringed memory,
Yearning for new life.
All the world lay open before her.
Pen unsheathed,
ink steeped in dream-spell,
she begins to invoke,
summoning, invoking,
weaving the breath of possibilities,
polishing them
until ribbons of their iridescence
broke through the ivory quiet,
refracting - no,
reflecting her reclaimed fire.
She holds them tight to her chest,
and sings, "this, all of this,
is mine."

She plucked tear dropped dew
like harp strings;
they clung to spider silk
woven between the drying pondweed.
The creek somber,
low,
unearthing river stones
gleaming,
begging for the sky to open
in the blazing summer sun.
Her wings wilted,
bowed in mourning with the cattails,
her grief alone not enough to refill
the home that she had built,
for upstream,
built by hands that no longer believed
in myth, or magic;
they had dammed her.

Canyon born,
sipping the wisdom of Grande Ronde
from weathered springs from deep within
pebble jeweled ground.
I sing their songs in the golden hush of morning
as I feast upon the sun,
low, root-deep,
native as the wild wind that dances with me,
fingertip to fingertip
petals flaring red with rare fire.
They once sought after me for medicine,
an ample stem for leaning on
with their tongue-tied cracks
until their fear captivated me,
forced me into containers,
made for befriending hummingbirds
that drink of me so they can soar
sideways shuffling away
with their self-important iridescence.
I may not outlive this cell,
plucked away from the sweet summer grass
that taught me to plant seeds.
Those sprinkles claim the clay anew,
re-rooting my lineage.
The legacy of my blooms lives on
in the whispers of butterflies,
and the hum of the earth.

I was born with unopened eyes,
skin striped black with shadows of my ancestry,
a roar that resonates in my bones
calls me to the water,
and to the hunt.
They tried to cage me once,
to ***** out the orange of my wildness,
file down my fangs,
told me I could live on
packaged, processed meat.
I chuffed at them
having taken the mangroves as my lover,
his salted bark the perfect reflection,
both of us camouflaged between earth
and sea.
He never seeks to tame my roaming ways,  
paws itching for unfamiliar earth,
claws ever carving new ground
He simply lets me breath, unmuzzled,
free to embrace my soft feminine wild

Fancy free, feet loose
dancing on your shoes,
toddling till my toes could tap,
frying like bacon on the carpet,
sizzling away from the fleeting
summer days.
perfection in simple, uneven
steps.

Pulling hoodie strings down tight,
gifting one arm only hugs,
and pinky promises;
my swivel hips will stay in the living room.
How I fall in love watching you
spin, and dip,
twisting together into pretzels,
the way I can only imagine lovers do.

Spiraling through the danger zone,
we set the floor on fire with the family name.
I could have sautéed in victory,
dressed in gold from crown to blouse,
sporting purple satin pants that bruised the ego
of men who tried to demand I wear a dress.
I never thought not to believe,
there'd be no one to sashay
in a moonlit kitchen with me
*
Now... my pen swirls and curls
over neat blue lines that reflect
the somberness in turns
I do not get to take
within shared space,
others wrapped in tangos
as my favorite songs play...
dance card empty...
everyone seems to have forgotten their pens.