Breath of a Phoenix
The breath of a phoenix,
Grainular and coarse,
I feel the memory of sand beneath my fingers.
They watch me walk in and around that little lake,
The shadowed ends to this stick,
Creating shapes on a tree.
Marks of the dead and living,
Around the edge of the earth,
Sitting side by side.
Don’t watch me when I fell,
When I tripped during the fall,
My knees burned of ash and lung.
Days fall now besides the ocean’s view,
Where the beeping creates the melodies of what once was,
The greatest past and yet again.
The breath of a phoenix holds onto the fire it once held,
Where the places collapse beneath them,
Finger in hand.