firebird rises and speaks to the sun.
this happens every sunday. and
all day all birds chirp
of nothing but this, nothing
but the fire reaching skyward
big beak bursting open
and spelling over and over again
the bird's word for light.
the sun, slowly born
by the song of each letter -
each spelling, each spilling of sound
out from the mouth - basks
in the glow of its eternal growing
and sends firebird back knowing
the light his music
brought into being
would be delivered so long as earth
stayed singing.
-the first sun song