Phoenix Dreams

An arsonist poised against untended desire

sets the desiccated ablaze 

there is the intoxicating scent of hot beeswax

and gasoline

yet even this tempestuous flame

turns with a pop and spark

vanquished by the apparition

who haunts me from your smile

you know the one

from a thousand years ago

who wakes an ache of memory, draws from our marrow

battered bits of lost and broken soul,

always shared, and sometimes shattered,

over lifetimes

We have been here before

dangling from this live wire

over the dead rats, old syringes, and plastic bottle caps

and this time,

perhaps, it is our desire that becomes

the ash from which they spread our wings