The Fire River

Final Draft: 8/18/2027

Note the error in the fifth line—I would have sworn I double-checked before writing this clean draft, but apparently I trusted my childhood trick to remember what it meant instead… c’est la vie.

Courage, like a phoenix, rises—
Born of lonesome ash and flame—
So unexpected, indiscreet, and free.

You look to me like empty bottles,
Cigarette butts, half-consumed hors d’oeuvres
Scattered in the blind and morning sunlight.

I pick through your fragments like a child,
Curious with mischief and a boredom
At these items I do not contain and can’t imagine.

Tip a couple ashtrays on the floor,
Spread the contents deep into the shag,
And step back to admire what I’ve done.


Words to you are fish that rise
Then disappear into a murky depth;
So momentary-transient like glimmerings from hooks.

There exists your silence:
You burn, staring, in my eyes—
And my response remains incomprehension.