Daughter of the Thunderbird

She only rests, but never in quiet.
She receives burning and breaking bodies,
she outstrips death by moving close.
Look, shadows are moving across the landscape,
we were just a moment ago in the sun,
Chief of insubstantiality.

She gives him her red blanket,
to make a little sunset.
Creation is like that,
proud of the bloom he is loaned.