Upon Finding a Phoenix Nest

The bones of trees
Picked clean, clustered, and
Washed in to
Intricate compositions.
Sere and laid bare,
Here, where there is
No possibility
Of hiding
One's scars.
The fertile conversation
Of wood grains meeting
Strikes me
As so beautiful
And meaningful;
This piled-up
Bed of decay --
Speckled with
Shell, bone, glass,
Acorn, walnut, smoothed-stone --
So alive
It is twinkling,
Flickering, and
Glistening with
Treasures of
Immeasurable wealth. 
These are the exact conditions
A phoenix uses
To be reborn
To rise.
In the sense
Of becoming,
It is an act
Of negation --
A journey
Of removal.
To find
Our essence
We must be
Whittled down
To the core.