Phoenixes

The fiery skies
of a poet’s last days
are his final dreams
come closing in.

The train of his life

derails in flames,
the muse flies off,
he burns in his seat.

Smoke swirls high

through uncharted space;
a white-welcome heaven,
his heart is ash.

Yet nothing is lost;

what remain are the words:

And one day they’ll rise

to seek shelter
in romantic minds.

Sunset by Bill Foster

(From the book Wilderness & Love)