The Swans — A Poem

“Swan” — C.Birde, 11/18

Four white bodies,

whiter

than Autumn snow;

sleek and blemishless

and smooth

as the far horizon;

     extending,

          reaching,

               stretching,

and –

with each near-silent,

muscular stroke –

                    beating

brisk air

to cream.

 

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

Mistaken Identity — A Dream

“Light” — C.Birde, 11/17

Raul?

No. I don’t know any one by that name.

Yes, I’m certain.

Who said that…?

…but I don’t know any Raul…

He said what?

About…me?

Well, that’s embarrassing…

Sure, fine, I guess it’s flattering…a little.

But any way, you must have misheard…

Then he means someone else.

I’m already married.

Fine, fine. I’ll follow you, but only around the corner.

No. This is far enough.

Yes, I can hear him.

Good grief…who talks like that? Is he reciting sonnets?

Rhapsodizing? You’re being dramatic…

No, this is close enough.

He can see me just fine… from his pillar…above the crowd…

God. Look at him…

Listen to him…

Listen

What?

No.

No, of course not.

I was not.

That’s ridiculous.

Besides, he doesn’t even recognize me.

I’m not the one he’s talking about.

I’m not the one he means.

I’m not the one.

I told you.

 

 

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

Conjuring Light — A Poem

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“Conjuration” — C.Birde, 11/18

 

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

 

Separate Waters — A Dream

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“Separate Waters” — C.Birde , 11/18

 

The bridge extends.

Below, to either side,

in frantic haste,

wide waters part.

We stride

in confidence,

reach the midpoint of the span

and cross beyond…

When,

in headlong rush,

the tides return,

frilled with crashing

foam…

His name lodged in my throat,

upon my lips;

in fear,

I cry aloud

for his steadying hand…

Out of reach…

beyond reach…

A fury of water collapses, collides,

consumes my voice, my limbs,

my life.

A thunder of water

separates.

A wall of water

divides.

 

— C.Birde, 11/18