Confined.
Trapped
within the porch,
the wasp batters
itself against watery
glass seeking
nonexistent
exit.
Black,
self-waisted body;
six maroon appendages
waving.
Uselessly,
furiously,
determinedly seeking
what cannot
be found.
The wasp batters
itself against watery
glass.
The wasp batters
itself.
The wasp batters.
Batters.
B
a
t
t
e
r
s.
— C.Birde, 7/20
“Wake!”
she pleaded,
“How can you sleep?
When poppies bloom
in hues of peaches,
dawn, &
mourning doves’
spun-sugar
feet?”
— C.Birde, 7/20
Step through
this weight of air
heavy with rain unshed
that beads along
the fine hairs of
arms and lashes.
Slowly, enveloped.
Melting.
Skin kissed with
atmospheric breath.
The barriers dissolve.
We are
one.
— C.Birde, 7/20
We danced.
O, how we danced…
Our bodies lightly pressed
& touching at wrists,
forearms,
elbows,
hips.
We danced
through a room cluttered,
crowded with tables & chairs;
with people
disinterested,
distracted,
curious.
We danced.
His lead so assured,
so easy to follow
that my step
never
f a l t e r e d.
— C.Birde, 7/20
Things I have lost,
in no particular order:
books & keys & histories;
my halo,
my high horse,
the chip on my shoulder;
pets & friends;
a father, a sister;
my heart,
my head,
my way,
my youth;
sense of self;
an unobstructed view;
faith & trust & confidence;
my grip,
my patience,
my tolerance;
all my defenses &
sense of direction;
I’ve lost count,
lost track,
lost face;
my perspective,
my chances,
my edge.
But of all the things here —
accounted for & overlooked,
irreplaceable or inherent —
I have never lost
your Love,
nor my love
for you.
— C.Birde, 7/20
Wind ran
through the trees
like water,
like laughter.
“The oaks,”
she confided
winking,
“are ticklish.”
— C.Birde, 6/20
Trees bend their crowns, assembling.
Flicker drums and summons thunder.
Ferns fold themselves to rain and
Oriel soars by on wings of fire.
Swallow whole the arc and heave and glide,
heart spread wide, unbolted.
Separation tumbles, falters.
Gather up each worn stone, fallen
to mark that untamed, sacred place,
where truth emerged without, within
in full-throated unison
that all are one is all
are one
is all.
— C.Birde, 6/10
Swept overhead,
in upward arch,
trunk and limbs
of dappled light
smooth-stroked
over milky sky.
Each reaching,
forking twig tip
a cascade of blooms
daintily evoking
carnations,
strawberries,
pink campions and
lemonade.
Backward bend
and upward gaze
at unfettered,
all-consuming
view –
an atmosphere
entirely awash
and in the pink;
in sweet dream
of romantic love;
in beauty and
hopeful rosy
youth.
And –
in love,
by love,
through love –
a world recovered
from its
wounds.
— C.Birde, 6/20
“Leave
your offerings
on the threshold —
your weight of
stones &
bones &
hearts’
clipped wings.”
She spoke
with the Forest’s
throat.
“I will tend them
while you
rest.”
— C.Birde, 6/20
Cracked open.
— C.Birde, 6/20
