Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Phoenix (The Firebird) (poem)
Phoenix
We know that bird,
have eyed it furtively
from the dark corners of the wood,
have heard its wild call
scream through the awakening ears of dawn,
made answer ourselves,
tentative,
unsure,
seen its blazing colors
(crimson, golden, blue)
flash
against the mirror of the sun,
gazed in amazement
at its rapturous flight spiral upward,
then touch down
amidst the rocks
and scattered twigs below
to build its cinnamon cone again,
felt its pulse rising
as it prepares
to kindle its ancient flame
once more.
Dorothy Walters
July 9, 2007
