A Tiny But Significant Phoenix Poem by cahen thrips

Anita touched me;
touched me once;
some instinct led her
to lay her hand on my arm.
So simple, so innocent.

Her touch touched me,
reached in to where
nobody has ventured
since you died and
it was as if your breath

blew softly on embers,
so, as flames leap
with sudden joy, I leapt,
realising this core is not all ashes:
instinct is not dead

It won't bring you back;
I'll not see Anita again,
but by you both
a little light now flickers
in my unlit self

March 2023