These words, I whispered into the open door
of the hallowed, hollow tree:
“Open my eyes.
Sweeten my speech.
Soften my heart.
Gentle my hands.
Broaden my mind.
Strengthen my will.
Deepen my soul.
Remove my fear,
that I might better hear
your reply echo
throughout the elements
surrounding.”
And by “my”, I mean “our”;
and by “I”, I mean “we”.
— C.Birde, 10/20
Things I have lost,
in no particular order:
books & keys & histories;
my halo,
my high horse,
the chip on my shoulder;
pets & friends;
a father, a sister;
my heart,
my head,
my way,
my youth;
sense of self;
an unobstructed view;
faith & trust & confidence;
my grip,
my patience,
my tolerance;
all my defenses &
sense of direction;
I’ve lost count,
lost track,
lost face;
my perspective,
my chances,
my edge.
But of all the things here —
accounted for & overlooked,
irreplaceable or inherent —
I have never lost
your Love,
nor my love
for you.
— C.Birde, 7/20
Swept overhead,
in upward arch,
trunk and limbs
of dappled light
smooth-stroked
over milky sky.
Each reaching,
forking twig tip
a cascade of blooms
daintily evoking
carnations,
strawberries,
pink campions and
lemonade.
Backward bend
and upward gaze
at unfettered,
all-consuming
view –
an atmosphere
entirely awash
and in the pink;
in sweet dream
of romantic love;
in beauty and
hopeful rosy
youth.
And –
in love,
by love,
through love –
a world recovered
from its
wounds.
— C.Birde, 6/20
Stir darkness,
scatter light.
From shadows’
flutter and flux,
pluck the edges’
patterns,
those separating
places between
extremes,
gray and
overlooked.
At long last,
margins unearthed,
laid bare, and
connected.
From that space,
call my name.
From that space,
we will sing
an expectant
song…
— C.Birde, 6/20
With all that is &
is not currently
occurring, I find
myself drawn to
windows, closed;
staring outward,
sitting, waiting
for Gray Catbird’s
return.
— C.Birde, 4/20
I give my thoughts,
at dusk,
to the reservoir,
where they
sink &
settle &
thin
like dream,
like life.
— C.Birde, 4/20
And yet,
and yet…
in spite of all,
of everything…
Spring.
The world outside —
slowly,
gradually,
wakening in bud
and bloom,
in slow greening.
Earth,
shuddering
with birdsong;
spring-anointed
in glorious yellows,
in floral
exhilaration.
All the world,
a gift,
taking time
to breathe,
expand,
and
open.
— C.Birde, 4/20
May the light break
around,
upon,
with us all —
r e f r a c t i n g —
until
we are decked
in rainbows.
— C.Birde, 4/20
What shape
will healing take
and when might
the wound
reknit?
Reinforced with
steel & stone
Shattered glass
Crack’d bone
O,
nest of moss &
neatly woven
grasses
exposed to hope
to love again,
receive
us.
— C.Birde, 3/20
“In silence,
in solitude,“
— her voice thrummed,
everywhere &
nowhere —
“there
are
a n s w e r s.”
— C.Birde, 3/20