Before breath had a name,
the Universe cupped its hands
and shaped a cradle of light.
Within it—
a child of dust and song,
curled beneath the root of a single rose.
No wind,
no sound,
only the heartbeat of creation
echoing in petals and pulse.
The mother was not one—
She was the earth,
the ocean,
the unspoken prayer between galaxies.
The child dreamed of rivers,
and the rivers dreamed of her.
Both waiting
for the moment they would remember
they were the same.
WíyakA Wíŋ — She Who Carries the Star-Seed.
