I Rise...

The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise.- Cervantes

"You have to heat it to over 2400 degrees to change it to glass, you know. The sand melts, then you shape or blow it. And the chemicals that give it color as varied as a new box of crayons-"
"-but not the smell-"
"No, nothing has that smell. It has its own smell, reminiscent of ozone or brimstone, I don't know what."
"The phoenix rises too."
"Enough digressions, please pay attention. You add the chemicals, the insets, the gold leaf. Every color from purest amber, see the pale translucence here to most opaque sable."
"Nice. Sable? Not obsidian? Not hematite? Not jet?"
"All those too, but see, this is sable. See the trace of brown and yellow, like animal fur. Sable. So. Then you have something, something which matches your vision."
"I like the Tiffany stained glass windows."
"All good and well, but no more interruptions, please! There are infinite variations, flat, round, hollow, solid. Look at the internal bubbles, the varying sizes. Mistakes? Maybe. Maybe not intent, but see how they add to the reflectiveness of the piece, how they accent it, trace the length of it, bubbles rising like mist."
"Length of it?"
"Mind out of the gutter. Look. Look at the texture. Smooth here, rough there. The shape, waves, rolling waves echoing the sea. So we have the heat of fire, cold of the deep sargasso sea, sand torched to glass and bubbles rising from the foaming waves."
"As the phoenix rises from its own ash, purified and reborn."
"Indeed."
"You see all this in a glass sculpture."
"Oh, I see more, more than that. I see every moment of creation, every change that was or will be. Here. See where the color fades into another, the layering technique."
"I want you."
"Yes, sure, but don't change the subject. Look at this. You see the flecks, like bits of mica. Here, the curve and sharp edge in one. Round softness and brittle sharpness. A scimitar. It is shaped like a scimitar."
"When you get that look, I want to make love to you. I want that look for me."
She turns, surprised. "For you? You've not had it?"
"Not today."
She smiles. "Not yet today, you mean. Days not over yet. We have time." Eyes now shut, she kisses his cheek.
"Yes, you have it now." He kisses her still closed eyes.
"Hmm?"
"That look. It's all of you, the way you relax into yourself, when you're happy, when something gives you pleasure. That's your fascination, your glamour."
"Hmmm..." She kisses him again, this time on the mouth. "2400 degrees Fahrenheit. Changes everything. Takes less than that to change a person, to burn a person away."
"Takes one kiss."
"And two? And three? And maybe more than three? Sands of time. Heat shapes the sands of time, keeps them from running out."
"Nothing stops time."
"Pauses it. The pause between heartbeats. It's all we have."
"Yes. It's all we have."