Silver dawn

In seven holy days,
The silver ferns ripened,
On the harvest full moon,
With three faces of melted pearl.

The souls of the firstborn inhaled,
The fresh starry breath,
Which spread in the earthly mists,
Through the hard platinum veins.

The children of water and moon arose,
And through the bases of their footsteps,
In the dewed gardens of the sacred woods,
They built temples to the goddess.

She pierced the world young and clear,
With her blue hair of chilly waters,
She blessed it with cosmic lilies,
And tied it to herself and her chest.

As she opened her eyes, the sun rose,
As she danced, so did the trees grow,
As she sang, the winds fondled the water,
As she fell asleep, the mountains laid heavy.

And after all the silver threads,
And after all the stars stretched through,
She knotted it to her engraved bones,
And turned it in the cycles of her eyes.

Her children circled with her,
And their tears bloomed in the turns,
Their songs ended at the beginnings,
For the starry cycle betrayed them.