When I was born,
the air said to water,
Let’s go meet the earth.
So they slid down a rainbow
into the field of poppies
where my mother slept
in my fathers arms.
“Fire, what are you doing here?”
Water asked (always wary of that one).
“Catalyzing, what else?”
Fire shrugged and kept blazing
hot and bright.
Showing itself as the light
in…