Up into

a wet pillow cloud sky

bird of flame

like a yellow rose

touching the toes of gods,

past treelines and skyscrapers,

daughter of the wing,

receiver of the mating dance.

Bird beyond laws and names,

the visionary’s touchstone,

keep your flame and rise

like love rises and engulfs

the blooming darkness or like water rises

devouring the whale-hunter’s boat.

Up into the firmament,

higher than the experienced stars,

your craft is art, your light uproots time.

Do not land, but keep rising, a gold dome

over the blue, answer every dream

with a glowing !yes!

be our temple and our immortal hope.


absent of grief or longing, bird of flame,

you are smooth, loose and pliable as

the flesh of deep eternity.




Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” September 2020




You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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