I’d Be

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 I’d Be


A sweet speck in a stove

that, without me, is always cold 

A heat Brave Prometheus couldn’t help

but steal.

A secret dear Vesta and her attendants could 

keep. 

A warmth my beloveds could come 

feel.

A trapdoor for stuck energy

to go free.

Marked by that mutually intelligible 

scent. 

Destruction to every material

illusion.

The birth mother to an orphaned

Dionysian phoenix.

Fire, because my mortal bones 

know what it is to burn. 

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