I could name you as the sound
A cello string makes when struck,
That low thrum that seeps into the blood.

I could see you in the rain,
The way it reaches for everything
And through it.

I couldn't make you a city.
That doesn't sound special, but it is.
I could picture you in one, gazing up at the glittering lights
And adding your rhythm to its pulse

But you
You belong to the land.

I've never met anyone who belongs here like you do.
You could have peeled yourself from the bark of a willow tree
And stepped into the world.

You could have emerged from the sea
While it still churned from a violent storm.

Lightning could have reached from the sky
And began your fingertips
In some lonely field somewhere.

You are not
Man made.
You are too pure. Too clear.
We muddy, we tarnish, but we do not
Create things like you.
We only
Claim them.

You did not rise from a sidewalk crack
Or stretch up from the shadow of a streetlight.
You come from something older.
Something
Better.

And I don't think you have any
Idea.