Prism Song

If you were a carpenter, your hands to the grain

If you’d stayed a stranger and I’d never learned your name

If you were a creature of make-believe

If you were the shades of colors my eyes cannot see

I never would have known what you could have meant to me

If you were a mason, your body of stone

If you were a garden with myrtle overgrown

If you were the walls that purposed the room

If you were a prism with the light passing through

I never would have known what you could have meant to me

If you were a child born new into the day

If you were the dreamcatcher above the bed I made

If you were immortal with no concern for age

If you were the northern hills that knew no rapid pace

I never would have known what you could have meant to me