I Could Become the Phoenix
I could become volatile and travel on the air
become a thistle seed born along
by my bristly parachute of long white hairs—
if I would just stop clinging to the earth.
I could laze all day:
a vine snake posing as a branch,
trading my culinary concerns
for a lucky chance at sustenance,
if I would simply accept whatever comes
I could become the phoenix, or
at the very least wild thorns
not resisting the flame
if I would but give myself
over to love.
Not grasping, not clinging,
not resisting, I could scintillate till I finally ignite—
phoenix-like - from nothing more or less
than midnight tears' heat.
Diane G. Woodcock