by Max Conley
For my mother; Icarus and phoenix.
I who can bare the ravaged landscape.
I, being twisted together from
string and sound and conceived
into the transient tones of a lyre’s
You who composed me with
grace and lonely fragility.
So, I was born to weather
the discordant hums of the universe.
The frozen melody
of the earth melted through my fingers
as the soft, wispy wires
of my flesh were
tempered and steeled in the cold
So, I can stir the ashes
and ignite our incendiary souls,
and we’ll traverse the silent Lethe.
As the world conforms to turning glances,
let what must soon pass
be cocooned by eternity.
So, I will light my shadow
and watch my potential face
take form in the ocean,
as a hummingbird takes flight with
the sun and carries my ascension
upon its wings.