firebird rises and speaks to the sun. this happens every sunday. and all day all birds chirp of nothing but this, nothing but the fire reaching skyward big beak bursting open and spelling over and over again the bird's word for light. the sun, slowly born by the song of each letter - each spelling, each spilling of sound out from the mouth - basks in the glow of its eternal growing and sends firebird back knowing the light his music brought into being would be delivered so long as earth stayed singing.