“Riddle” — C.Birde, 5/20

A riddle –

lacking keyhole,

handle, or

hinges;

An omen –

a stone rolled

‘cross a

tomb;

a door of gray boards,

sunk in the hill’s

chalk white face

and tucked beneath

a green garland of

ivy.

Exit and entry,

impossible

impractical.

Invitation in jest,

deep-set in the hill’s

soft ivied side,

behind peeling gray

boards that board up,

hide, and hoard

mysteries denied —

a riddle.

— C.Birde, 5/20

“Cliff” — C.Birde, 5/20

Impressive feat –

to maintain verticality

complete

on the cliff’s sheer,

tiered,

limestone face…

Wearing black gear,

stamped white with

endorsements,

a boy on a bike,

pedaling furiously,

tirelessly.

The bike’s nubby,

rubber tires bite,

spray grit,

incise an ever-deepening

groove…

While,

stretched below,

beneath the cliff’s

jutting lip,

the sea sprawls

and waits

and heaves;

ultramarine

and green ;

swollen layers laced

and dimpled,

frothed white with

submerged spokes

and wheels

and legs

too numerous to count,

still churning…

Patiently,

the sea receives

the scree that spills

and spirals down,

down,

down…

accepts all offerings,

large and small,

as easily,

as hungrily

as any mortal boy’s youthful,

wide-eyed resolve.

— C.Birde, 5/20