The Phoenix bursts from its egg of ashes
Every five hundred and eighteen ages.
It will spend years unfurling its plumage
Like crimson, emerald, and golden sashes,
Before it flies. The setting sun rages
In jealousy, cries “You presumptuous midge!”
The Phoenix’s bloodless heart doesn’t beat.
Only its wings that mercilessly blast
The air, and never fold, keep it alive.
Its pearl beak never opens to eat.
Just one exhalation would be its last.
Its fate is to seek and never arrive.
The Phoenix explodes and plunges to earth.
Once, ages ago, there was no rebirth.
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