I see with my heart
but I see with my eyes
and magnitude is a weapon
much stronger than the hammer
used to chisel away
at amethyst rock.
Treasure grazes superficiality
in a way so gentle
it cannot break the thin,
for its shimmer comes from the core
of earth,
and soul,
and roots
and bones
not from the poison we inhale
with the promise of allure.
Your branches are green with spring
but my eyes refuse to blind themselves
from the green of smog
and decaying wood
and rusted pine.
You are the red blood of winter
that strains the snow with ardor
but they see you as you are
not who you are
and I laugh with them
with liquid gems
“You taint the white of snow”
but my blood runs brown and dark
and yours is still of holly.
You are the earth
the essence,
my air and my ground.
My heart beats with the river
that flows in your fingernails,
but my eyes see what is to be seen
and not what is to be felt.