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.