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

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

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

Wash — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of a reed basket sitting on green grass, half-filled with wooden clothespins.
“Clothespins” — C.Birde, 6/22

Wearing periwinkle

& faded denim,

hair hanging

(nearly)

to her waist in pale

drape of texture;

she stands outside

in soft-blooming

light,

clips glossy, new-

washed magazines

to the clothesline’s

drooping bow

where damp pages

dripdripdrip

themselves

to curling dryness

on the green

green grass

below.

— C.Birde, 6/22

Eye-to-Eye — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of an eye.
“Eye-to-Eye” — C.Birde, 6/22

The Other –

whose eye is so close to mine, I cannot see…

is it he, or she who studies me? –

remarks upon the color of the iris of my eye:

      “Hazel

in dim light;

      greener

in bright.”

My response:

      “I know.”

Yet, despite our intimate proximity –

quite literally eye-to-eye

I cannot see the color of the eye that peers      

at me.

— C.Birde, 6/22