Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day.

Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers.

I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters.

I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself.

I pace the halls of the underworld.

I knock on the doors of death.

I wander into the fields to stare at the sun and lie in the grass, ripe as a fig.

The souls of the gods are with me.

They hum like flies in my ears.

I am.

I will what I will.

Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.

---from the Egyptian Book of the Dead