Like Phoenix Rising

She still frolics among the Arabian dunes Hundreds of years of lifetimes living After as many fiery deaths, the fable goes, She throws herself upon the funeral pyre, Then, arises from the hot coals and ashes To “build her spicy nest,” Carew opined: “Ask me no more if East or West The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies And in your fragrant bosom dies.”* Have we not all lived our years of valiant quest Seeking the rare, exotic spice of this barren place, Repeatedly, again and again, 'til finally we descend Into the bowels of funereal bowls of putrid ashes Only from which we rise to find ourselves nestled In another haunting “fragrant bosom” to live again, Once more, you see, like the phoenix of fabled yore. [*Thomas Carew (1595?-1639?) From “To Celia,” Stanza 5] Written on March 20, 2021 For “Phoenix Rising” contest Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker