“I dream…
of deep green mosses,
ouroboros,
& bright motes
of light…”
At rest between
thresholds,
she sighed through
sleep’s keyhole.
“I dream
of
y o u.”
— C.Birde, 1/22
“I dream…
of deep green mosses,
ouroboros,
& bright motes
of light…”
At rest between
thresholds,
she sighed through
sleep’s keyhole.
“I dream
of
y o u.”
— C.Birde, 1/22
Observe,
so sweet a sylvan pair
that for decades,
having side-by-side
together grown,
now glide
smooth torsos
one against another,
entangle limbs,
& gently,
oh, so gently sigh…
Observe & know –
tis yet another
thee & I.
— C.Birde, 10/21
“Remember?
When first
we beheld
one another?”
She rustled
& sighed.
“How the world
tilted ‘round
our axis…”
— C.Birde, 8/21
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
Sow Love.
Love
so.
— C.Birde, 2/19
Scatter seed —
feed the small souls
scratching for survival
through dreams of
warmer days and
last season’s
leaf litter.
Scatter the seeds
of kindness.
Harvest songs
of
love.
— C.Birde, 12/18
Light
slips through our
grasp…
Each hour of each day —
paler, thinner,
more threadbare than
its yesterday.
Plumed
in solar flares,
our tongues regale each other
with half-remembered
tales of milder days —
songs of Crow and Centaurus,
and the Great Bear,
of the Herdsman
and his starry flock
spread across the night sky’s
vast backdrop.
Frost-touched,
we’ll pause together
at Winters’ gate and,
reminiscing,
conjure
light.
— C.Birde, 11/18
Dark uncoiling
of slim
ring-necked snake
Shadow
of peregrine cast
in a rush
over blushing
stone
Porcupine quills,
strewn
like toothpicks,
like pick-up sticks
Wild turkeys,
rusticating
Poised
in autumnal air,
a Kingfisher –
hovering,
hovering,
diving
into wind-ruffled
water
Yellow witch’s
butter
Bright scarlet curve
of salamander
tucked amidst
leaf-fall
The red squirrels’
constant scolding
Myself,
returned,
renewed,
restored.
— C.Birde, 10/18
Change
if you must
exchange your
limits —
imposed,
self-fashioned —
for broader
space.
Ivy embraces
the picket fence
and moss creeps
over stone.
Slow patter of rain
carves its own
sweet route.
Change
if you must,
if you wish.
But never forget —
small as I am —
that I have always
loved you.
— C.Birde, 9/18
May our hearts and minds
remain open,
our arms outstretched,
and our eyes
forever
wide with wonder.
— C.Birde, 9/18