From the pink
dogwood,
dropping notes –
bright petals,
raindrops,
shadows
onto clear water –
that fall in explicit,
random pattern;
reclaiming
Summerland
through song –
recognizable,
indefinable.
My heart unbolts…
At last,
at last…
I’ve awaited
your
return.
— C.Birde, 5/21
Lilac perfume
& swoon
of chartreuse,
pollen-ed
air…
A-swim
& stippled in
Spring’s ritual
laving…
Every pore
aware.
— C.Birde, 5/21
“I am,”
she said
with sly smile
& wink,
“quite literally
living in the
(yellow-white-violet)
pink…”
— C.Birde, 4/2
New growth
on old wood –
tender green,
delicate
and
frilled –
Living proof
that youth
belongs not
solely
to the young,
but
to all those
who begin
anew.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“Yes,
I know…”
Even as she spoke,
her infinite heart
entrusted its pulse
to all things.
“O, yes,
I’ve missed you,
too.”
— C.Birde, 4/21
Pale wisp
of breath,
of life,
that I am
Petal-filled
with Spring,
with drifts
of redbud
& cherry,
crabapple
& quince
Pray, do not
restrict me
to such
narrow space
of heart
that I fade
from memory
upon
exhalation.
— C.Birde, 4/21
Evicted.
Expelled.
Dispossessed
of that old house
on the hill.
Three stories
of tilting timeworn
clapboard
& peeling paint
flaking over tired
green grass.
Seize it. Take it.
And welcome.
It matters not at all.
For in the moonless
night-spangled
dark,
I moved (removed),
like guileless wind,
all small & coveted
prized possessions –
a whole life’s worth
of work & soul
& pulsing wounded
heart –
to the small brown
bungalow nested
oh-so-sweetly
in the valley
below.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“Sing with me”,
she trilled,
“our tongues curling
‘round each fleet,
green note;
‘round the tender sound
of each new leaf
unfurling…”
— C.Birde, 4/21
Spring —
season
of promise and
uncertainty;
that green-frilled,
pink-budding gift,
waiting
to be
o
p
e
n
e
d.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“In yellow,
I rejoice,”
she swept her arms
wide as her
grin,
“You will see me
a’thrill
in each daffodil &
forsythia,
each dandelion &
goldfinch
returning.”
— C.Birde, 4/21
