when thoughts are awkward and
vocabulary must be big    you     young poet
begin to smell the fire   burning at your own stake
because the papers you stuff into your desk beg to be read
by the townspeople that like to burn things     preferably
flesh
for they do not understand the need to say something
anything that could be the least bit true

what you both do not realize: 
no poet stands in protest   we do not need rope to keep us
in the flames
the ashes must be          for one to become the most
beautiful bird

the only thing you know this moment
is the song from the emerged     
you hear it stronger than most
it matches your roughest drafts   enough
you want to live in the same trees
and fly around the public’s head
not always shooed       because birds have their place
until their song cannot be ignored    then there will be
another burning 

it is fine
people always remember the things they burn
whether it is the tree that fell on their house 
Rubber Soul   just because John
called the denied golden calf      or an entire collection
of disco   because it sucks     people remember the burning
and so will you when you have feathers for protection
you will practice the most haunting of songs and smell 
the next fire   yet this time you will know    
to become the most beautiful bird     the ashes must be



Maria E. Kuntz
June 6, 2007