Wednesday, November 21, 2012


I invite myself to a hearth
of words
And warm myself
by another's fire
from which sparks fly.

At times I'm a spider
taking hold with her hands
in a king's palace.

At times I'm a little bird
with tired wings
resting in a song.

At times I'm a phoenix.

At times I'm a moth
in some
forgotten garden
and I get singed
and fly away.

I cannot explain the sparks,
Nor why I will return.