Departure — A Poem

A b&w photo of our little old, ball-of-fire, doggie, sleeping in a patch of sunlight.
“Josie” — C.Birde, 10/22

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

A color photo of our little dog at six months old, on the rocky shores of Maine.
“Josie, 2006” — C.Birde, 10/22

Little Dog Walks — A Poem

An overhead photo of a little brown dog (and one of her human's feet) standing in green grass and clover.
“Stand & Walk” — C.Birde, 9/22

Near

the stop sign’s

scarlet flare,

our feet

in a depth

of green,

green

grass

Patient –

     sensing,

     feeling,

     recollect-

     ing steps

we stand

& wait for

the sweep

of Autumn’s

mournful

wings

to      p a s s.

— C.Birde, 9/22

Crickets’ Song — A Poem

A photo of a swampy meadow filled with greenery, beneath a broad blue sky.
“Rattlesnake Meadow, Summer” — C.Birde, 8/22

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

Glove — A Dream

A close-up photo of an adult cicada.
“Cicada” — C.Birde, 8/22

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

Endless — A Poem

A landscape photo of dried earth and clumps of tough, yellowing grasses beneath a white-cloud-filled, rainless, blue sky.
“August Plains” — C.Birde, 8/22

Overhead,

the Dog Star pants

& prowls a sky stretched

blue & rainless,

casts unhurried shadows

upon once-green grasses

stitched through

with summer’s leonine heat

turned rasping,

wheaten.

— C.Birde, 8/22

Traffic — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of cars set against a mural background.
“Traffic” — C.Birde, 8/22

No matter

that I have no map,

no navigation system…

that the warp & weft

of intersecting highways

remains incomprehensible,

& the frantic push & pull

of traffic sweeps me along

with tidal force…

that strobes of light –

red & white & cautionary

yellow –

stream past in a confusion

of glancing blurs

reflecting off windshields,

steel-gray paneled bodies,

side- & rearview mirrors

dim with rain & half-light…

No matter.

I have foreseen

my arrival,

     all the same.

Woodlawn,

     I am coming.

— C.Birde, 8/22

Here — A Poem

A photograph taken in Rocky Mountain National Park -- foreground of scrubby grasses, middle ground of conifers, background of mountains & bye sky.
“Old Fall River Road,
Rocky Mountain National Park” — C.Birde, 8/22

Locusts

     applaud

our efforts at the fringe

of pinetops & wind

set sharp against

the mountain’s

falling hip,

with thinned

& thinning blue sky

     caught

about our crowns

& wildflowers

nodding,

     sighing at our

earth-dusted feet –

Yes,

oh, yes,

you’re truly

     h e r e.”

— C.Birde, 8/22

“Wildflowers, RMNP” — C.Birde, 8/20

Excavation — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of a romantically derelict Irish castle.
“Cathedral” — C.Birde, 7/22

We ascend the gradual slope

of polished stone set between

transparent knee walls

(fingers trailing

brushed aluminum rails)

& leave behind

the noise & commotion

of lights & shops & cafés,

the bustle of others’ motion

& intent.

Here,

we pause to peer beyond

the glass-walled enclosure

of dark earth,

excavated oh so long ago;

to peer at the ancient stone-

boned cathedral held within.

Ghostly spires rise through

dusted half-light;

buttresses span a space of time

unmeasured;

battered curtain walls defend

the sacred, hollow space within.

Alone.

Solitary.

No witnesses, but we –

he

&

me.

— C.Birde, 7/22