Firebird

This time I gather rag mags

And broken bits of unnecessary things

And add them to the pile

Of old ideas,

feathery light in their uselessness.

Next comes the clean white pine,

the savory rosemary stalks,

and the desiccated lavender sprigs.

And there in a small corner,

A mirrored shard,

just enough to tempt Helios.

Soon, the pyre begins,

Fragrant odors wafting far distances,

Signaling the end and the beginning

For Phoenix time has come.