Epitaph for a Poet

I am a dead tree
in the forest of poetry,
rotting on the ground,
feeding millions.

My steady eyes
beckon from your fire,
my restless tongue
licks your face and hands.

Thus am I consumed
by pure kinetic flame,
grateful to be burned
and born again this way.

For beyond this grave
of coals and ashes,
my sap will rise again
and fan the moment.

You will seek
the wild fruit I bear,
your children will play
among my branches.

I will be a cathedral
of leaves and bark
with windows of light
sown by prophetic hand.

Then one day
I will fall again,
and give you shelter
from the storm.

June 2, 2005

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Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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