FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX
Without you, there is no magic
in the shadows any more.
I don’t see the cruise ship
whisking us to Madeira,
or the dozing bird of prey,
head turned into chest
but occasionally an ebony panther
creeps stealthily across the curtains
before melting to the floor,
chased by the hunters’ gun.
When our hands intertwined
a phoenix rose
soaring across the ceiling
with our hopes and dreams,
sometimes chased by spiders,
eagles’ wings or a bobbing rabbit,
that made us chuckle with delight.
I can still make the rabbit
but the phoenix has gone,
broken, incomplete,
leaving an emotional void
to cast a heavy shadow across my heart.
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