I find myself relating,
Through crystals and times of day.
Like the most trite and tired of hippies.

I remember when I was young,
I mocked Raven Silverwolf
For such an extravagance.

I chose mine in the growing
Norm of my community.
Men choose Victorian names,
Women choose futuristic ones,
The rest choose objects or concepts.

Garnett Dawn
Ruby Dusk
Onyx Noon
Sapphire Midnight
Emerald Twilight
Citrine Evening
Bloodstone Witching-hour
Lazuli Morning
A Crystal shaped like Yesterday
Opal dreams of Tomorrow
Quartz Teatime
Fifteen after Cinnabar
Ammolite Siesta

I'd like to claim that they all have overt and precise
Meanings behind them. And in a way, they do, vaguely
With massive deviations and margins. If I narrow focus
I can assign them meaning, whether they existed in the moment.

Myself, at hemeostasis.
Reflection, sadistic and femme
Echo, asexual and butch
Inversion, masochistic and demanding
Blur, distant and obedient
Compression, angry and patient
Skew, faithful and anxious
Stretch, joyful and manic
Slide, mournful and desperate
Rotate, delirious and romantic
Shrink, masculine and submissive
Scale, feminine and introspective
Feather, androgynous and attentive

Meaningless. What's in a name?
Everything, sometimes.