Where do they bloom, those spears of quartz?
In the dreams of Nan Madol, the outlooks of Mesa Verde?
Follow the constellations of ivy red, in those silver pools.
Look! A garnet swan, all decked out in crimson plumes,
Shimmering in the sun.

Through the forests, where two snakes have met.
In the plunging waterfalls where doves fly past.
Crisp is the air that I breath in, cuts my lungs.
In that moment, pines whisper.
And footprints I have left behind begin to tread on their own.

Among the trunks of singing trees, under a jade canopy.
Bring me back to the stone ruins nestled in the forest.
Bones of buildings sit; their souls remain.
Ants run through me, and before I know, I am their nest.
The queen sits in the centre of my mind.