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