poeming with archetypal fire

mother of the fire

when the fire
flutters and recedes
and the babylon of me
is burnt utterly to the ground
and the phoenix
risen and holy, new
and tireless, emerges
from the skeleton
of my ashes, whole
and wonderous
and achingly free,
then you may call me down
to the fire in you
still burning bright,
and let me sift through
the bones with you
until the answer appears
an oracle of the you
yet to appear from
the ashes of your now
and together we can sip
on the sweet nectar
of your unbecoming.

This is one of those poems that come rather out of the blue, whole in itself (needing a bit of tweaking to get to the end, but mostly there from the start). A gift poem.

And a bit of a mash-up, too. As well as heavily inspired by the way my #archivallexseries photo up there looks like I'm burning. It's actually bark from a very cool tree, backlit in the sunset.

Six more poems left in the poeming every day of April. And only a few more left in my 52 Weeks project, too. And then we will see what emerges.