Standing By Me

and I stand there
on the rumpled hearth
with no passers by,
no leaves, no flowers,
no fruits, no seeds,
no birds, no rain,
no fire, no breeze;
nothing to call my own
but my own barren self -
only dry roots
that still hold up
the parched hollow
of my throat,
and an upright spine
now rising
like a phoenix
from the moor.