ID-iom — A Dream


“Graveyard” — C.Birde, 9/18


“…it’s like…”


A sourceless voice,

mild as spring,

spare as winter.


“…scattering breadcrumbs…”


They appear in hand,

tiny, pale fragments,

brittle as stars.


“…in a graveyard.”


The landscape shifts,

the monuments resolve –

tall, dome-shouldered,




— C.Birde, 9/4/18

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