Duck the arch,
the vined curtain blooming
red
seen
only from the farther side…
Enter softly,
keep
the secret of your approach
in your pocket
lest the idyll vanish wholly
with an eager, errant
footfall.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Duck the arch,
the vined curtain blooming
red
seen
only from the farther side…
Enter softly,
keep
the secret of your approach
in your pocket
lest the idyll vanish wholly
with an eager, errant
footfall.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Small
in a vast world,
& aware of her diminutive size
No bravado here
Alert & wary
Yet ready to trust
when approached with
patience & kindness.
We’ve all been her.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Wolf’s head
hung above the door
in welcome or warning?
I could not know before
putting hand to latch
& slowly moving forward.
— C.Birde, 5/25
In May’s unclouded light,
I walked my grief –
short leash heart-tethered
Cool blue breath against
my skin reverberating
with our paired gait’s
catch & swing
Strides synchronized
etched from fragrant air
Each, a pulse of beauty,
a tear shed for my own,
for the world’s suffering
Heart-leash short tethered
wending home again
On my doorstep –
patient, casting shadow
Nowhere to go, I let it in.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Lilac dream –
each branch’s whole,
flowers within flowers unfolding
as dream within dream
recalled
forgotten
yet entirely dreamed,
perfumed, &
growing.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Red & ripe & weighty,
a convexity
in my hands’ cup
Red-gem arils snugged
within thick skin,
protected
She,
Persephone,
swallowed six seeds,
slept through two
seasons,
awoke refreshed
in Spring
The fruit’s thick peel
falls away,
red-skinned white flesh
patterns the counter
I wolf scarlet-bright beads
by the handful,
greedy for slumber curative
& deep,
greedy for uninterrupted
dreaming.
— C.Birde, 1/24
That night,
the Moon’s pale & brilliant eye
shone wide across the water
And you three & you & I walked
through the end of an October
warmer than memory allowed
While the fallen, whispering leaves
of oak & sycamore followed us
on brisk & skittering feet.
— C.Birde, 11/23
Blush
of pink,
palely reflected
in down-turned
petals,
conceals this
persistent
awkwardness
of being.
— C.Birde, 5/23
Farewell
to green-fringed
sheltering limbs…
The hole hewn
from the gray sky,
where you stood
a hundred years,
cannot contain
your absence.
— C.Birde, 5/23
Falls,
fallen,
falling down
d
o
w
n
into the depths
of self.
— C.Birde, 4/23