I never believed
what the blue mountains said of me,
that I was luminary.
I listened
to beige pebbles,
that played inside trickling streams,
longing to conform
within the shallow depths
of those crystalline springs.
But my lightness carried me to the sea.
-
I never understood
what the cardinals sang of me,
that I called the wild.
I listened
to the orange fire,
that scorched what I had begun to grow,
longing to dance
like the floating golden embers,
but the burning hardened me to steel.
-
I never dreamed
that the Dogwood bloomed for me,
but she declared I was worthy.
And I listened
to her ruby petals,
that whispered truth upon misty morning fog,
longing to again be made soft,
for my forged ferrum bones to melt,
but she cradled me in her branches,
humming verity,
"iron is still stardust
if you let yourself come home."