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: