Canaries

When I was born, my eyes opened and they were the color of wet rock and silt,

Running soil and salt and flame, the shifting layers of basalt and grey, hardened

and transparent as glass -

equipped to see the world.

As I got older, my eyes lightened to yellow and lupine, streaked with ribbons of black

both wolf and flower, the color of a lit field on fire, the damp soil that held it aloft.

My mother said it is because we have canaries in our soul

And they escape from our eyes

And I would like to think we emerge from the cave

Escaping our mouthless selves

our past remembered bodies, crying here here, both stone and air

And earthly yellow fire.