In the end everyone's prayers are answered,
just not in the order recieved;
we all reach and then fall.
That's what it is to believe
beyond reason or chance
in the power of life to redeem,
to know that names and words
like dreams ware away.
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I spoke with Van Gogh
under the cyprus --
jagged pallet punctuated pastel here,
tawny earth tone here,
subtle water to arid land,
where once was a crisp canvas.
He etched a pyre atop a paragon.
There is a phoenix in all of us, he said,
seething, mixed with our ashes
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