Rara Avis

By Bruce Boston

While the pale unicorn
hides in the faery wood,
you fly for the sun
in gold and crimson raiment
to solo the empty sky.

While the fierce griffin
devours the lion,
while the winged dragon
swallows its tail,
you dine on valerian
and cinnamon.

While the fetid breath
of the scaly basilisk
withers shrubs
and splits rocks asunder,
you fashion a nest
for your own cremation.

Of all the magical beasts,
only you, sly phoenix,
can glide the shadow
lands of death
and fish the River Styx.

Only you, mad bird,
go down in fiery plumage
to rise again
from the sizzling marrow
of your bones.