Green Sprout (Wood) × The Emberheart
The poem they write alone is really written to be slipped, quietly, into someone's hand.
The Emberheart burns alone at midnight and shows almost no one. Wood gives that inward fire a direction, so the poem written in the dark is really written to be slipped, quietly, into someone's hand. So you are the Emberheart whose private work is secretly a gift. Under the closed page hides a warmth that wants to be seen, that made the thing for a person and not for the drawer.
There is real feeling in what you make alone, the kind that moves people once it reaches them. The fire is genuine and so is the wish to pass it on, which is rarer than either alone. Antares burns red and solitary, a heart alone in the dark, and yours keeps a candle for one specific reader you have not handed it to yet. People sense the fire. What they do not know is that it was lit for them.
Here is the cost the green adds. You want to give and you fear giving in the same breath, so the work goes moldy locked in the drawer, the gift never reaching the hand it was meant for. The Moon here burns behind cloud, a glow with no clean edge, present and unseen at once. Some seasons the bravest thing is not to write more, it is to slide the drawer open and let the one person you made it for finally hold it.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.