Plume… — A Poem
Hum — A Poem
Little Dog Walks — A Poem
Crickets’ Song — A Poem
I could sleep
away the season’s end,
head upon this pillow
of bronze ferns
& oak leaves turned
the color of doeskin,
Cheek pressed
to this still-green bed
of moss as you sing
against my ear
Please, let me remain
undisturbed until
the heat has passed
Though this means
I must wait
another year to hear
your song.
— C.Birde, 9/22
Endless — A Poem
Here — A Poem
Locusts
applaud
our efforts at the fringe
of pinetops & wind
set sharp against
the mountain’s
falling hip,
with thinned
& thinning blue sky
caught
about our crowns
& wildflowers
nodding,
sighing at our
earth-dusted feet –
“Yes,
oh, yes,
you’re truly
h e r e.”
— C.Birde, 8/22










