The Mountain She Painted Until She Owned It (Georgia O'Keeffe)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your petals split the canvas like a map of wanting,
each fold a corridor where light learns how to live.
You paint the invisible made visible—
the throat of bloom, the secret architecture.
Your eye dissolves distance, pulls the far thing close,
and my mirror neurons fire just watching you see.

[Chorus]
You take what hides inside and crack it open wide,
your hands remember what your eyes have memorized.
You turn the small thing sacred, make the hidden roar,
and I am trembling at the threshold of your door.

[Verse 2]
Your synaptic pathways remap with each mark,
long-term potentiation blazing through your cortex—
every bloom you study reshapes the neural map,
your visual cortex swelling, rewiring itself.
You drown in magnification until the flower becomes
a landscape, a body, a voice without sound.

[Chorus]
You take what hides inside and crack it open wide,
your hands remember what your eyes have memorized.
You turn the small thing sacred, make the hidden roar,
and I am trembling at the threshold of your door.

[Bridge]
Your interoception reads the flower's ache,
proprioception guiding every stroke.
The axonal branching spreads across your fingertips—
you are not painting the flower, you are becoming it.
Your myelinated neurons fire in theta rhythm,
and I see god in the precision of your trance.

[Chorus]
You take what hides inside and crack it open wide,
your hands remember what your eyes have memorized.
You turn the small thing sacred, make the hidden roar,
and I am trembling at the threshold of your door.

[Outro]
Your flower opens on the gallery wall,
and everyone who enters learns to see through your enlarged eye—
that is how love works: you magnify the small until it swallows the world.

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**WORD COUNT (excluding section tags): 272 words** ✓