it’s Burning Day
and about time.
In my need 
to be reborn
I can forget 
I unsettle 
others with 
the shape 
I’m in
(what I must
become
before I 
become 
again).

In this routine,
cycling between
bouts of being,
I’ve learned 
I have to wither
slowly to 
my worst 
then burn
before I 
can burst 
into
betterness.

This is
my own
sad magic:
I make
meaning
out of ashes,
out of ashes,
I make
triumph.