Sun-Death
A fantasy poem
On snowy wings, the phoenix rises above the rage of burning cold.
Singed with frost, diamond claws, the ice of pinions, scintillating.
Her long neck bows, faltering, at the stab of heaven’s fire.
Too late, she cries into the wind a siren song — snowflakes scatter.
Beneath the crust, a circle steams — to rise again when winter falls.