As a phoenix rises from his ashes,
as a wrecked car with a good VIN is reassembled with junkyard parts and returned to the road,
a boy rises from the mess of having been born on Earth.
I climbed the wrecks for years.
Some still warm. Some already silent.
Not for conquest, not for love — but for salvage.
A bolt of kindness. A side mirror that reflected something true. A fuse that still carried light.
I told myself I was looking for someone.
But I was scavenging the world to reassemble myself — piece by piece, myth by myth.
A boy with a good VIN, pulled from the rubble, re-registered by will alone.
Now I stand still among the rusted hulks.
The hunt is over. The engine turns.
I am roadworthy. I remember how to move.
Like a phoenix from grease and bone, I rise assembled.
Not clean. Not new. But mine.