Olivine

Olivine

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.