The Other –
whose eye is so close to mine, I cannot see…
is it he, or she who studies me? –
remarks upon the color of the iris of my eye:
“Hazel
in dim light;
greener
in bright.”
My response:
“I know.”
Yet, despite our intimate proximity –
quite literally eye-to-eye –
I cannot see the color of the eye that peers
at me.
— C.Birde, 6/22
Hands clasped
& pressed
to breast-
bones,
we stood –
enraptured –
as Wood Thrush
dropped
each liquid note
down through
the trees’ canopy –
like hope,
like light –
then alit
upon the path
before us
& took
his unassuming
bow.
— C.Birde, 6/22
Four snakes –
Slim black
ribbons
of tongue-
flicking,
flexible life
scrawled
across my path:
Four compass
points
of blessing
Four strokes
of wisdom
Four opportun-
ities to shed
my skin
& begin
again.
— C.Birde, 5/22
“Remember
when we walked
arm-in-arm
through
the blue-green
wood?
You said
you would
return…”
Leaves rustling,
flowers blooming,
she paused.
“I’m waiting…”
— C.Birde, 5/22
“May your path
be strewn
with beauty – ”
she gestured,
& flowers bloomed.
“May you recognize it
as so.”
— C.Birde, 5/22
Youth’s coverlet of red
spread over green grass
sprigged with violets
Scarf of owls concealing
eyes closed against
the sun…
Inhaling
Blue Jay’s declarations
& Cardinal’s belling call
White-throated sparrow’s
soft query
& House Sparrows’
collective colloquy
Catching
Chipmunk’s mild distress
scratched & scuffled
against the downspout’s
hollow
While,
the Wind prowls overhead
like an enormous cat,
weaves in & out & through
spruce’s bristled limbs
& maples’ fern-laced leaves
& reaches d
o
w
n to pluck
the tassled, blue-gray scarf
of sheltering owls with wings
o u t s p r e a d.
— C.Birde, 5/22
“I arrive
in a flurry of petals,”
her voice sailed,
sweetly scented,
“White, pink, yellow…
given to you
on April’s
tossing breeze.”
— C.Birde, 4/22
Sunshine –
heatless word fed to
the Changeling to convey
complexity of feeling,
to sidestep
fine hairline breaks,
over Time’s span,
accumulating…
In a moment’s blaze,
the maze of eggshells
so long
& carefully cultivated,
crushed to powder
underfoot…
Each from the other
propelled in orbits
unanticipated beyond
a moniker’s bright veil
toward ashes
of that hopeful word’s
well-intentioned light
now drained of warmth,
darkly eclipsed,
extinguished,
lost.
— C.Birde, 4/22
I hear your whisper,
answer your call,
sing chorus
to your melody.
There is no
separateness.
You & I
are We.
— C.Birde, 4/22
“We are tied,
you & I,
“inextricably intertwined,”
her words pulsed
with Time’s unfolding,
“Your actions writ
upon my canvas.
Be wise.
Be kind.”
— C.Birde, 4/22