My daughter is conspicuous: as loud
as right, as upright as a standing bird.
She fire-dreams hot prophecy, endowed
with self-renewing love for every word.

Flamingo-balanced phoenix: don’t despair,
to hear them publish who should journalize.
Regard them irregardless; smell the air
up here – and see the new-made ashes rise
above your ankles, eddy round your knees
and drift like pollen in receptive air,
like magic dust that will not force a sneeze,
like fairy powder lighting everywhere.

My daughter dances bravely, patch wings sewn
upon her back, into the old unknown.