In the year of the Firebird
both a blessing and a doom
befalls all those who love.
Beware of red feathers
found in subways and parks.
The firebird is molting
because it is dying.
Finding a feather begins the sickness
of wanting and needing its light,
and compels the journey
in search of the glorious bird
with eyes like green jewels
and a beak made of precious gold.
The only way to catch one
is to feed it golden apples,
which grow on forbidden trees.
But the owner of the garden
is an angry tyrant with a thirst for young blood.
The year of the Firebird
is an upside-down time,
and sickness descends upon the land.
Until the hero comes and liberates
the firebird, so it may return to the sun
where it heals again and mates for life.
Clasping their giant talons, they mate in
flight as brilliant as a comet
and as cleansing as a cooling rain.
The beauty of the bird is its own reward.
Its light attracts the innocent,
blessing the land once more.
Until another tyrant comes and hoards the light.
And so the cycle begins again.
Now we are in the time of calamities.
Feathers are wafting over us,
falling in our hair
but, this time, liberation will
take more than one hero.
