Who are you to me,

Mister Leach?

That you glide

from nostalgia’s

silver screen?

Stride languidly

through Dream plains

of wild Psyche?

Debonair in style,

urbane of gesture,

smooth-suited

& Brylcreemed

to characteristic

perfection;

utterly untouched

by Time’s pitiless

transit

Coy-smile flirtation

Determinedly

searching for…

questioning…

Dream within dream,

thrice calling.

Ever & always welcome,

dear Mister Leach –

please, do visit again.

Still, waking curiosity

compels:

Who are you to me?

— C.Birde, 1/22