His mother told him many times
   a bird most striking had appeared 
   in the window at his birth,

How calm she felt the last hard push 
   which shot him forth into the world,
   as red and yellow feathers flared.

      ...

In the woods, the fire burnt out,
   an old man left the child there
   with tales of gods aflight.

The boy had felt the ashes, cold,
   startled at some thrashing wings,
   seen glints of color in a tree.

      ...

His guide was pointing to three birds,
   flying through a sulfurous cloud
   at craters's lip where they fell dead;

The hiker sensed a whir
   and saw at vision's edge
   a brilliance fleeing molten rock.

      ...

On his walls were pictures --
   quetzal, peacock, red macaw,
   golden pheasant, scarlet ibis;

His questions lay in ancient myth,
   memories shimmered through his day,
   his dreams at night kaleidoscopic.

      ...

She was above him, rouge and gold,
   nuzzling hair with avian kisses,
   feathers falling over him,

And sang, 

   "Miss you so, love you so!"

   He felt her answer brush his cheek,
   his last breath smiled, and then he flew.