Monday, June 6, 2011

The Phoenix

This golden vessel weighs creakingly
upon the crux of the ancient wooden structure,
soft and damp and feeble.

This tall sepulcher glows a little from its mouth,
this ancient wooden structure prone
behind its dead tree scraggle-roots and thorns.

This golden vessel rests in the midst and shines through all,
this little precious empty thing, long longing to be filled brim-high.
It turns the water of the eyes to wine so lovers can be drunk on loneliness;
it widens and is large enough to bathe in,
if you know the words to say:
Oh God.

God has not forsaken the vessel of his making;
that which no one values gathers dust unhindered.
This golden vessel weighs creakingly
upon the crux of the ancient wooden structure;
this heart leans heavily upon
the dry beams of a love once new.
Make of a love a crucible,
and the vessel will emerge from flames
bearing its ever-truer form and face.

Oh God, this ancient wooden structure!
Who could have imagined
such heat from an old flame?


The truer form is stirring in the glowing ash:
an indistinct, beauteous shape
like a bird with new, clean wings.


  1. I truly don't understand how people never comment... or is that that people rarely read?
    I love your style of writing. It isn't blatant - you have to think - and the imagery that comes to life is vague but incredible. I relate to this one. In the way I interpret it, at least. Thank you for sharing...

  2. Man. I'll comment. This is beautiful. Especially the way I'M interpreting it.