Phoenix (for return flights)
She started to go up
and everything that fire touches
can't come back. You'll never
cage that bird again
put smoke back in the cigarettes
or turn love back to what it was before,
you'll never grab the iron
that same way
another time
because the way you felt it
never dies
You'll never see the sun go up
and not remember how
her wings were forests-wide
her candle teeth
the hillsides
and her bones the matches
for your bones,
her eyes the glowing skyline
over great Chicago. Some things
are blessed to get old,
and others change
until they become light
as feathers
drifting on hot winds
to who knows where.
Maybe they touch you
and you can't come back.
You'll never cage that bird
you'd only burn yourself.
A miracle is something bright
that happens without precedent.
explosion
starts the universe,
a bird escapes
its cage,
the body is a cage. This body
couldn't cage that bird,
or stop the flame from rising
remember
she was beautiful and fierce
when she went up
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