The Phoenix ComplexLove is the fire and I am the wood.With each new spark I amcharred,engulfed,consumed,left with nothing but smokeand ashes.But then comes the reasonI tempt the flameagain and again:the silence,the coolness,the rebirth.
Hibernal BlissI missthe snowfall of my past,the flakes free-floating downlike stars from the midnight heavens,stinging ever-so-slightlyas they sought out the contoursof my upturned face:the icy fingers of a blind winter godwhich melted on contactwith my vernal smile.
Reaping the SownI missthe autumn of a tender age:those leaves which finally surrenderedand came down from the trees,scattering like rasping crowsin our wake -their animal orange,their beastly brown,and the smell of old sunshinein their decaying corpses.
MetamorphosisI missthe torrid, timeless daysof summer vacation,how I ceased to live on land -existing in air and water only -becoming the negative of my school-year self:all swarthy skin and honeyed hair.
Out of the BlueI missthe delicate beautyof a cast-off robin's egg,how my tiny, cupped hand would shakeas it held the even tinier shell,one small finger extendedto gently caresswhat was already broken.