Worth — An Image

A photograph of green moss growing against a red brick.
“Moss” — C.Birde, 1/21

“You are

no less important

than the greatest

of mountains,”

she spoke in wind &

weather,

“& no more important

than the smallest

of mosses –

each,

a world all its own,

& a treasure.”

— C.Birde, 1/21

Rest-Less — Dreams

The view looking down the central space of a set of metal staircases.
“Stairs” — C.Birde, 12/20

Dreams:

Of rushing–

headlong

down flight after flight

of white, right-angled

staircases,

in hope of catching

& meeting

that bright elevator

when it completes

its descent;

Of accepting

the usher’s white rose

& following through

the auditorium’s dark,

near-empty aisles

to a seat farthest back

as the lecturer speaks

of death;

Of wading

in shoals of translucent

blue water,

waves lapping, pooling,

as I balance–

barefoot

on the world’s knobbed,

ancient spine

while a dolphin swims

just out of reach.

Dreams

& dreams

& dreams.

Forming,

flowing one into

another.

Half-remembered.

Scattered.

Tattered.

Incomplete.

Dreams interrupted

& rest-less

sleep.

— C.Birde, 12/20

Jam — A Dream

A Jar of Jam, set on a sunlit windowsill.
“Jam” — C.Birde, 12/20

With a look in her eye –

imperious, sly –

that suggested

I knew her meaning,

she asked for a taste

(“a taste, just a taste!”)

of my “Boyfriend Jam”,

not jelly.

But I –

bewildered, confused,

unable to grasp

what she implied –

could only stare,

slack-jawed,

standing there,

& in vain futility

wonder.

— C.Birde, 12/20

Wish — An Image

A path through moonlit woods at night...
“Darkness” — C.Birde, 12/20

“I would fashion you

a cloak

of moon- &

starlight…”

Her wish –

a subtle balm –

draped ‘round

my shoulders.

“…to guide you through

this temporary

dark.”

— C.Birde, 12/20

Companion — A Dream

A close-up, black-and-white photo of spotted (faux) fur.
“Black & White Spots” — C.Birde, 12/20

Look out for the dog…

Beyond any line of sight,

vanished up a lane

in this labyrinthine,

underground,

terrain,

his words echo out —

a sonic ripple stroked

against the air –

and find their mark.

Warning or instruction?

Unclear as compressed,

unspooling dark.

And then,

sudden as a ghost,

it appears –

the forewarned dog

A great white beast,

indiscriminately splotched

in charcoal spots.

Prick eared.

Whip tailed.

Smooth fur, close-coated.

Just off the path, it waits…

Great rosy tongue, a‘lolling.

Shell-pink pale muzzle

upturned in doggy grin.

A creature far from

fearsome.

Continue in accord

through enfolding dark;

left arm slung over

the great dog’s muscled,

lambent,

milk-white shoulders;

draped across its thick neck;

until…

Until

Furred flesh shifts and

shivers;

morphs;

transforms.

Exchanges canine shape

for human;

woman.

Tall, straight-spined;

strong, clear-eyed.

Tireless companion.

Fearsome guide.

Warrior.

Side by side,

press on as one —

together

through the dark.

— C.Birde, 12/20

Gray Planes — A Dream

Black and white gray scale scene of the sea and sky and beach, a solitary figure silhouetted on the left.
“Gray Planes” — C.Birde, 11/20

All is gray…

Above, beneath, beyond…

Three horizontal planes

of neutral gray overlaid

one against another…

Land and sky and sea…

Blurred seams erased.

Stand here with me…

The shale, a coarse voice

beneath our feet…

The air a sigh…

Nearing our step,

the lapping edge of foam-

laced, shapeshifting sea.

(Pay that element’s

inconstant promise

little heed.)

Look instead beyond…

Into the distance…

There

Gesture strokes the air…

A scratch of darkness

within that vast expanse…

No other form to speak

of its relative dimensions…

Undeterred,

it comes,

it grows.

A bird?

Eagle, Albatross, or Tern…

Can you discern its form?

Tell me what you see…

Patience,

patience

Its shape defines slowly…

Slope of yellow beak…

Compact body,

smooth and white

Languid wings –

gray-stroked, stretched wide –

gently stir the space it occupies.

A gull —

Free , unfettered…

Clear-eyed perspective…

Visitant of the in-betweens.

Above the shore it hovers…

Wings beating noiselessly…

Now, its form in white neon light

outlined…

A stroke of gleaming bright,

it dives and thrusts —

into susurrating shale —

its beak,

plucks out some secret

nestled there…

Departs.

Returns

to those very planes of gray

from which

it came.

— C.Birde, 11/20