Life glows from the ashes,
Red and dead.
Rest assured I will not waste
My atoms. The sea
In which they swim is not
So fickle as life.
From the land Persephone is torn
Into the heat of hell-
But fire can serve a woman well.
In Spring she shoots forth
A million delicate souls.
Piercing
Through flames, the willowherb of this
Barren body will take seed,
Will flower.
In its own way beautifying
My scorched scars,
My cauterized heart.
The fatal lick of a poison dart
Will take only me,
My anatomy.
The tools remain,
They regain their power
And Persephone will rise through me.
I have seen it before,
This end feeds desire.
Life at its finest is paved with fire.
