“Come,”
he said,
and lead me out
beneath the bee tree’s dome.
We stood together,
wreathed
in sweet saturated scent and
downward-descending drift
of apiarian song woven through
that namesake tree’s
flower-pricked upswept
boughs.
And we were one,
and we were one,
and we are ever
one.
— C.Birde, 6/21
Apiarian hum among
spirea wands as bees
– carelessly, casually –
rearrange clusters of
blushing flowerheads
to their liking.
— C.Birde, 6/21
Within this timeworn house
of haphazard architecture,
tilting floors & walls leaning
so corridors & large rooms
are winnowed down to small:
A funeral for one who,
in waking life, yet thrives;
while the other pair who,
beyond the dream’s confines
have truly died,
remain alive & utterly besotted
of the two young charges
fostered to their joyful care.
Kneeling,
see how she ruffles their dark hair?
wraps them in embrace,
in smiles & warm kindness?
Strange time to transfer
obligation of such import.
A funeral…
dull ebony coffin stretched
in final demarcation
of the vaguely sloping room;
symbol of thwarted Fates,
of fortunes turned…
And I –
witness to both fact & dream;
to contradiction;
Ghost-like,
I roam the altered account,
unaddressed,
unmarked,
unseen.
— C.Birde, 6/21
“I perfume
the air
with my being…”
She did not brag,
merely spoke
truth.
“You need
only
breathe.”
— C.Birde, 6/21
The sky unzips & groans –
sliced, clipped, bisected –
while, rooted below,
I struggle to parse
interrupted songs of
Eastern Wood-Pewee
Carolina Wren
Ovenbird
&
T
h
r
u
s
h.
— C.Birde, 6/21
Gray sea, gray sky
Margins smudged
in all directions
Stretched & stretching
Unbroken & unchanged
but for the smooth fold
& roll of white-capped
wavelets…
Then, movement –
countless pale shapes
schooled & swimming
beneath the gray sea’s
surface in synchronicity
Arms flush to lean torsos,
legs at knees & ankles
clamped, pressed
as though fused…
Their bodies part water
with inhuman, ghostly
grace
No need to surface…
No trail of bubbles
to mark their silent
passage…
Blind & Deaf & Mute
They are the swimming
Dead…
My own eyes sting
my tongue tastes salt
my ears pulse, throb
And then, release…
Within their company,
freed from bodily limits
& swimming…
swimming…
swimming
endlessly…
— C.Birde, 6/21
O
milky
pearled
occluded
eye
though
turned my way
you see me
not
colored
as the spots
that dot
your twins’
fawn-colored
coats
bless you,
mother of those
two sweet
ciphers
bless you,
your strength,
your wounds,
you keen half-
sight,
& welcome.
— C.Birde, 6/21
Shoes
sturdy, dancing, & lightweight
for hiking, travelling, work, & play;
high-heeled, smooth-soled, steel-toed
Shoes
as comfortable, common, & tough
that support, pinch, bind, or rub
Goody-two shoes
Walk-a-mile shoes
Give-the-boot shoes
Waiting for the other to drop
Or,
dozens & dozens & dozens
of brand-new, white soled
canvas shoes –
tongues & laces lolling –
heaped, mounded, & piled
in a small mountain
of implied choice,
& not a matched
mate among
them.
— C.Birde, 6/21
“I will rain,
&
I will reign.”
Her voice
called storms
& stroked
stone.
“As
I
will.”
— C.Birde, 6/21
— C.Birde, 6/21
Nightjars & Damselflies 