The Fire-bird

The fire-bird sings,
with red-white wings.

Burning through time,
picking my spirit up
dancing in the eye.
It swoops and calls.

I am 
the prey 
it spies.

Hearing the chants, 
echo bass voiced. 
It speaks,
not as a word
but as a language.
Entirely free from me
yet i feel it
deep inside.
So i come to this place,
each day
and it comes.

I wait for the day 
the fire-bird
dims out like a candle.
When my breath gets too strong.
When it cannot go on,
and i cannot sustain,
for on that day
I will die.

The fire-bird seeks me,
as i do,
takes me to fly above,
in undefined realms
and it becomes me.

Vision of my vision,
it is my eternal warmth.

Perched on the tip of my finger,
ready to fly and for all to see:
How it hunts me,
and holds me.
Flickers in the winds,
sings to the rhythms of the trees.

If i am the forest,
it comes to burn,
to return me to the ashes
and rise with me,
as a child
with a new imagination.