Its voice
Is the blade of the desert, a fighting of light
Its voice dangles glittering
In the soft valley of dew
Its voice flies flaming and dripping flame
Slowly across the dusty sky
Its voice burns in a rich heap
Of mountains that seem to melt
Its feathers shake from the eye
Its ashes smoke from the breath
Flesh trembles
The altar of its death and its birth
Where it descends
Where it offers itself up
And naked the newborn
Laughs in the blaze