The Awakening of the Vitreosolen Ouro
Where the canopy breaks and the sunlight is spun,
Into threads of a liquid and crystalline gold,
A new pulse has started, a life has begun,
In a shape that the chronicles never have told.
Not animal, fungus, nor blossom of earth,
But a synthesis born of the silica’s grace;
The Vitreosolen has taken its birth,
The first of a strange and a shimmering race.
It stands on a tripod of translucent bone,
Like pillars of glass that have frozen in flight,
With a skin like the surface of water, alone,
That captures and fractures the passing of light.
No mouth for the tearing, no eyes for the glare,
But a crown of fine filaments, amber and thin,
That drink in the static and weight of the air,
To power the chemical engine within.
Its "leaves" are like mirrors, rotating and slow,
To follow the path of the violet rays,
While deep in its center, a soft, indigo glow
Beats with the rhythm of planetary days.
It leaves not a footprint, but trails of a mist
That smells of the ozone and wild, mountain mint,
A creature of prisms the morning has kissed,
With a body of diamond and celestial tint.
It hums with a frequency, hollow and deep,
A song that vibrates through the roots of the pines,
Waking the mountains from eons of sleep,
With its glowing and intricate, geometric lines.
The Ouro has landed, the Vitreosolen,
A bridge between mineral, spirit, and cell;
A gift from a future that’s not yet been stolen,
Comes to the garden where miracles dwell.
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