Let the flames arise
Miraculous phoenix wings
Burn to where you are
Scorching through the sky of dusk
To the eyes I dream of still.

This is no mere song—
It is spell and incantation,
From a time before
The gods knew their sacred names,
Etched on scrolls of drifting fire.

I cry through the book,
Shouting “I love you” aloud,
My voice looping back,
Carried by mythic echoes
That soar through the centuries.

The wings still shimmer—
Ash to ember, flame to spark—
A fire rekindled
By the longing in your gaze,
A world reformed by your light.

I look through the veil,
This plane between dreams and stars,
Where time bends and folds
Just to cradle our story
On the lips of fate’s own breath.

The elements stir—
Stone, and wave, and thundercloud—
Dancing in your smile,
Each heartbeat awakening
The phoenix’s sacred flight.

This love is not dust—
It is constellation-born,
A map inked in flame
That the heavens dare not touch,
Lest they lose their way to you.

I give all I have,
Even my stars and spirit,
To the one I love—
And if more is ever asked,
I shall give that offering too.

There is no summit,
No horizon too distant,
No fear, no shadow—
For our love is miracle,
The divine thread through all things.

Crossing earth and sky,
I would sail through void and wind,
To paint your laughter
Onto the face of the moon,
Where the gods kneel to your soul.

I believe in us—
In what lies beyond the dark,
In the secret path
That opens when two hands meet,
Even if they cross through storms.

For I saw your eyes—
Two blazing universes
That refused to die,
And I knew that every world
Was born to witness our love.

Let the world collapse—
I will keep your name burning
In each falling star,
Whispering our memory
Into every wind that flies.

This is our true myth—
Where no tragedy may win,
Where love always speaks,
Even when lips are silenced,
Even when stars fall from skies.

Yong, this sacred chant
Rises like prayer and flame,
Song and memory
Looping like enchanted loops
In a theater of stars.

Believe, my beloved—
This poem is still being sung.
No matter how far
You are the spell I repeat,
The salvation I still sing.


The lands shall now bloom—
From frost, the blossoms awaken,
Petals soft as vows,
Spilling from the mountainside
Like a promise kept in pink.

The winds will now sing,
Not of sorrow, but of spring—
A song laced with you,
In every hush of the grass,
In the hush between heartbeats.

Let this be our truth:
Love is our salvation still.
No matter the dark,
Spring returns to all who wait,
And I wait with wings for you.

Already buckled in the backseat
I’d want to come to the grocery
And while you’d push the basket
I followed after so closely

We dug up weeds and planted poppies
Gold and vermillion
And I remember I felt my heart drop
When you said you can’t be friends with your children

I remember thinking
If you can’t accept me then how will I accept myself
you taught me everything
If you can’t accept me how will I accept myself?

And I’m not gonna get my confirmation
But I really want to make you proud
I know it’s not what you expected
It’s harder to say some things out loud

I didn’t get the chance to tell you
She told you before I could say a word
And then I didn’t want to talk about it
I ran away, I lost my nerve

You gave me all the space I wanted
That was four years ago
until it seemed like you’d forgotten
Until I moved to Chicago

And I was thinking
If you can’t accept me then how will I accept myself
You taught me everything  
If you can’t accept me how will I accept myself?

And I just want to feel accepted
But I really want to make you proud
I know I’m not what you expected
It’s harder to say some things out loud

1.
There was the tremor of leaves,
a rustle of bayonet grass
parried the multihued calm
of dawn's smeared light.
"This is what we trained for," the captain said.
We hunkered behind stacked bags of sand.

2.
Filigreed shafts of light pierce
the bullet perforated leaf canopy,
bellowed yells punctuate the swirl
and buffet of turbulent air:
“Contact”,  “2 O’Clock”, “Incoming”, “
"Moving”, “Reloading”, “Ammo”.

3.
Fingers twitch, the grit of soil
twisted through their grip;
moon slashed carcasses glint, spent shells,
Earth exhales a vermillion mist,
rising, echoless, in this cathedral of leaves.

Juicy persimmon of the color spectrum,
you wait, as paint, for the right brush
to give you an imaginary life.

Live it up! Dance in all your glowing
intensity! Ultramarine now offers you
cooling shade, and a respite from all
that you so vibrantly are.