The Second Story — A Dream

The Second Story.png

“The Second Story” — C.Birde, 3/20

 

Was it you?

Really you I saw

that day,

that night,

while I stood with the wind

in the rail lines’ slope

of scree and

scrubby weeds?

So many miles folded

between us,

yet so clearly

I saw you through

the window’s smooth panes

of glass two stories up

in that time-peeled,

wood-frame farmhouse…

You bent

to lift the kettle,

your back curved

like a scythe,

like the sickle moon,

and I said

(my promise traversed

the separating space

though I never raised

my voice)

I said that I would help

at a word,

a gesture –

drop the kettle;

thump the floorboards

with the broom’s handle,

with your heel…

I would help.

The words left my lips,

and I wondered how,

in this mortal world,

a ghost might manipulate

matter to be heard?

Our lines diverged.

Slow-strobing signal’s

flash.

Cinders’ sigh of

warning…

 

We were

to meet

for tea…

 

— C.Birde, 3/20

 

The Hereafter — A Poem

Reservoir Woods.jpg

“Reservoir Wood” — C.Birde, 3/20

 

 

Hereafter,

no acceptance,

no denial.

All,

all a matter

of timing,

of Time.

Trees

link their limbs

in arboreal

prayer.

Birds

frame heaven

in wings, extended.

Walk with me,

our fingers twined,

while questions –

unanswered,

unanswerable –

stir

like phoenixes,

like last Autumn’s

leaves –

rising,

whispering –

within the path

as yet forming

before

us.

 

— C.Birde, 3/20

 

 

Beak-on — A Dream

Beak-on.jpg

“Beak-on” — C.Birde, 3/20

 

 

There…

Overhead…

A hiccup

of movement

within the vine’s

complex embroidery…

A small bird’s

flick and flitter;

the start and stop

of song,

rising,

falling

in swift,

mercurial tones…

Shape and sound.

Darkness caught

within darkness.

Until –

alighting

on pendent,

leaf-pricked coil –

with open beak,

it sings and —

in rippling song —

emits a

shining beacon

of light

that would challenge

day,

that illuminates

night.

 

 

— C.Birde, 2/20

 

Sudden Exit — A Poem

Snowdrops.png

“Snowdrops” — C.Birde, 2/20

 

For Lydia

 

When the day

has slipped,

and all its

burdens –

         large,

         small,

         soul-expanding

are set

aside;

when sleep

arrives –

         calm or fitful,

         dreamless or

         dream-full;

when the new day

dawns and

the world

(having fulfilled

its obligations)

continues

its slow,

unbroken

revolution;

I will carry

your absence

forward,

always,

in my grief-

softened

heart.

 

— C.Birde, 2/20