I wish I were a phoenix, so I could die
succinctly at the end of every day
and wake the next reborn, and, while I pray,
pack all my life in one short day’s supply.
I’d never let a single minute lie
misspent across my pyre, or throw away
the precious pith of friendship. I would say
I care about you now, and not be shy.
I let so many secrets stretch my life
membrane-thin across my every breath
and worry how my motives look to you,
but when the glint of time’s descending knife
tears my nice facade from life and death
my final fear is never reaching you.