The Bird Has Come
The bird has come.
The people below are unaware
the bird has come to share
its wisdom.
The bird has come.
To find a mate
from out of the gate
of heaven.
The bird has come.
An absurd bird that lays eggs in the sky
to let them hatch wherever they fly;
so many eggs, but yet no nest?
Wait! There! The eyes attest
a nest appears when each egg comes to rest.
Growing, glowing white-hot filaments of fire,
the kind of nest the bird desires.
Mythical, mysterious,
it must be the Phoenix,
the deathless bird from ashes grown.
Though it by other names is known
as he that tears the world asunder
whispering death; rolling thunder.
It's come for love, it's come for birth
its hot breath whispers secrets to the earth
and to the earth confides
its willingness to take a bride.
A bride runs from the nuptial nest
she by his wings of flame caressed
her arraignment trails in phosphorous fire
a wedding gown the sun inspired.
She screams out a mating cry
to her bird-lover in the sky
but she was not prepared to bear
the intimate things he came to share
another lover come to odds
by the sharing of their bed with gods.
Wrinkled with his wisdom, a raisin on the vine,
she knows more of war than all generals combined.
The bird unheard returns her mating cry,
he turns and drags his long white tail across the teacup sky
to mate again
to lay more eggs
to create more ashes from which to rise.
