Reality
unfolds around us,
but we hide
our flowered heads
in denial.
Daffodils
in January…
— C.Birde, 1/23
Oh, falling sky – pieces of blue
tipped black & white & falling
Crying bright reply to peanuts
clacking against dark shingles
& rattling aluminum gutters,
white painted.
Jay-filled sky in blue shadows
falling toward my outstretched
hand, emptied now, but hope-
fueled.
— C.Birde, 12/22
Run, run, run
run free,
unfettered by mortality’s
pale restraints as,
when first we met,
you ran,
Electron made flesh
in four fleet paws that,
for seventeen years,
obliged earth’s gravity
in jovial orbit.
Run, run, run
run free with yip &
click & jingle, & leave us,
dear Josie,
to the heartbreak
& surreality of your
departure.
— C.Birde, 10/22
I could sleep
away the season’s end,
head upon this pillow
of bronze ferns
& oak leaves turned
the color of doeskin,
Cheek pressed
to this still-green bed
of moss as you sing
against my ear
Please, let me remain
undisturbed until
the heat has passed
Though this means
I must wait
another year to hear
your song.
— C.Birde, 9/22
I wore,
on my right hand,
a glove of cicadas –
glittering,
shimmering,
whirring in patterns
improbable…
A glove of dialogue,
& movement,
& transformation
undeniable…
And when I tried
to release my hand,
my fingers,
of those shrill insects,
they clicked
& chittered
& shifted
& sang;
with buzzing intent,
they bit
& stung;
endured as one;
would not be
shaken off or free,
denied or dislodged,
but rather would
r e m a i n.
— C.Birde, 8/22