who knew that dust ran in veins?
that fingertips could ignite so easily
or that hair could fill with flames?
the blast of a furnace, volcanic –
a magma halo makes her rise,
smiling phoenix, bathed in light.
Shut the doors to one world,
celebrate with mescal embers, glowing
and ash petals, dark as night
fragile as breath. The hot shale of bones
rattle snake dry, pours back to a blue house –
but free now – she melds with everything: earth, water, sky.