Jack-o’-Lantern
Wax melts to my frame,
Contorting my carved shape
As I kneel to the phoenix-colored flame,
Throat charred awake
Peeling the creamed skin off my lips,
Nothing is born but teeth
And a flimsy tongue—
My crown of wind-bitten leaves
I am not who I seem,
For I can be whatever the breeze foresees
In the embers that light my eyes