Back-lit by afternoon light,
 
red bird, so red, saturated red
 
in search in a forest of change. Help me
 
understand just what we are at night,
 
I say; night sing, take off our clothes be nude
 
scavenge for stars for love
 
with its 23 wings so red,
 
and its 1000 technologies,
 
and its dance that spreads line
 
like a fan winking the rim of time, then pass.
 
 
 
Red bird replies,
 
See how sky falls, gently
 
at first . . .
 
 
 
My throat is an open tree, an autumn tree, a tree held
 
at the hinge of wings, in the wake of wings.
 
Tree of words, branches long as roads. I speak
 
as if I know these roads, touching
 
where it does not lead to war.
 
But can you love anyone now, I ask myself, then
 
turn, I turn my face again wondering what dream
 
transforms the phoenix. I am taken in
 
by what I take in with my eyes, directly
 
to the place I know – you know it too – where eyes
 
wearing only moonlight lie down,
 
find the burning matter,
 
body now as altered body
 
in my mouth a ladder, I follow. . .
 
 
 
Red bird rejoins
 
See how sky falls gently
 
at first . . .
 
 
 
then not at all –
 
don’t mistake your foliage for your fate.