***
The dying Sun spills its blood
Into the frothing waves
And dyed, blood-red
They wash against the pilings.
One by one, shadowy figures walk
And enter the iron filligree dome;
Where the magic of their meeting
Arrests a space outside of time.
Beneath the dome, all is quiet;
In the center rests a quieted fountain.
Its gargoyles' mouths are stilled
And the quiescent pool reflects
The ornate windows' broken panes;
Whose colored bits line the floor
And crunch beneath stealthy feet.
Through the dark windowframes
Gleam carnival lights long gone
Into the devouring maw of Time.
Dark figures circle the pool
Where the water reflects flames.
Conjuring up the Phoenix
From the past, through the portal.
It dances, low over the pool;
Glowing, red and orange, it spins.
Transforming in the fire of life;
Stretching and growing, lengthening,
He gains the face of a man,
Beautiful beyond any mere mortal.
His fire dances in his dark eyes
And his dark hair stirs on the hot draft
He shines; his plumage transformed
To glimmering rhinestones and Lycra.
He laughs; it rings against the iron beams,
Rattling the colored shards
In their twisted windowframes.
The laugh bubbles with joy and power;
Eternal as he is, it peals through time.
Flames spring up outside the hall
Great pillars and curtains of fire;
And flames rise from the portal pool.
They watch, silent in wonder,
As he sinks into the pool;
Catching glimpses of his creamy skin
Through the living flames as he bathes.
Spirits gather to dance in the eaves,
Wailing their mournful song;
And waves slap hard on the pilings
As time loops back on itself.
He emerges, eyes green as water;
Robed in shining new raiment
Blue and shimmering, full of light,
As a full moon on a midnight sea.
They watch with widened eyes
Shaded by ceremonial hoods;
He spins about, transforming
Again to the majestic bird,
Shimmering with blues and greens
Vivid as the northern lights.
It sinks down, the Phoenix renewed,
Into the flames below.
And as it goes, the flames die down,
Leaving the water still.
The flames die away to show a dim Present;
The spirits fly away in the coming Dawn,
And the sea--swells are stilled.
Int the gray light they steal away;
Knowing they will return--
Leaving the world renewed
For a thousand years in a day.