She was born of moonlight and meadow,
A maiden crowned in spiral horn,
Whose breath could calm the storming sky
And bid the wildest beast be sworn.
He came from ash and burning feather,
A prince of flame, of wing and woe,
Whose voice could split the mountain stone
And set the frozen rivers flow.
She danced where silence kissed the dew,
He flew where thunder dared to roam.
And when they met, the spheres grew still—
The stars leaned close, the winds flew home.
He burned, she sang. He wept, she knelt.
And in that hush, their forms unspoke.
Her horn turned gold, his wings grew pale,
As fire and grace in union woke.
They kissed beneath the seventh sphere,
Where music folds and time forgets.
And from their love, a garden bloomed
With blossoms shaped like silhouettes.
Some say they turned to constellation,
A spiral flame in twilight’s dome.
Others claim they walk the sea,
Still seeking songs to call them home.