That night,
the Moon’s pale & brilliant eye
shone wide across the water
And you three & you & I walked
through the end of an October
warmer than memory allowed
While the fallen, whispering leaves
of oak & sycamore followed us
on brisk & skittering feet.
— C.Birde, 11/23
How?
How did we two – strangers to each other –
accomplish such a feat?
call this creature from penumbral obscurity
into being?
Full moon blooms beyond refracted panes,
rinses this place, this manor – labyrinthine –
in silvered light
Halls
chambers
corridors
crowd close from all sides, lean in
in long condensed & aged neglect, exhale
Rugs
furniture
gilt ornament
Beneath the pale moon’s benevolent eye,
as one, we two crouch, side-by-side,
astounded
breathless
exhilarant
peer beneath the glass table’s oblique lip
at this inarguable astonishment…
This blunt-tipped quadruped;
squat necked, squared head;
its torso thick, quadrangular;
of conclusive features, devoid…
Eyeless
Mouthless
Noseless
Boneless
And yet, curiously, fully animate
Of a tangerine shade so brilliant, bright,
& incandescent,
all darkness recedes as if repelled…
She – my unknown familiar friend –
extends her arm, her hand to trace…
The creature bucks, sprightly prances
to safety, out of reach, away…
“Hush & wait, do not frighten it…” I say,
“We first must win its confidence…”
Teasingly, it dances at the edge…
How?
How did we, two strangers-not –
despite darkness & abandonment,
from forgottenness nostalgic –
how did we call this creature forth
& into being?
We did.
— C.Birde, 10/21
Sea
calmly addressing
rocky shore,
wavelets undulating
Moon
lifting, watery & fully
formed,
the surrounding dark,
obliterating
And I,
breath and pulse
re-synchronizing,
one witness amid those
witnessing
And I,
my pockets brimming
with silvered,
shining,
chiming slips of light
to carry home.
— C.Birde, 9/21
Ingredients:
2 c. vegetable broth
1 c. brown lentils
2 T. extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 t. ground cumin
½ t. ground coriander
½ t. ground turmeric
salt & fresh-ground black pepper, to taste
1 manuscript, shredded
Method:
On full, dark night in open-format kitchen with streamlined, brushed-steel appliances – open all of porch’s double French doors in invitation to West Wind to pour over slate floor.
Place oval Dutch oven with tight-fitting lid over medium heat; add olive oil; heat until shimmering, ≈ 3 minutes. Add onion & garlic; sauté until onion softens & becomes translucent, stirring occasionally, ≈ 3-5 minutes. Add lentils & spices; stir well to combine; allow lentils to toast slightly, ≈ 2 minutes. Add vegetable broth; stir until well incorporated.
Carefully add shredded manuscript. Observe any stray words: Autumnal; wind-slippered; irrelevance. Consider meaning. Incorporate all slim strips with other ingredients; bring to boil. Reduce heat to low; cover & allow to stew indefinitely.
While waiting, notice Moon’s reflection in countless glass panes; listen to silence; water plants.
— C.Birde, 8/21
“Moon” — C.Birde, 4/20
There are nights when I wake
with the Moon,
in one of Her many guises,
resting on my windowsill
singing in the very same
melancholy key
as the chords ringing
in my head,
constantly;
and I ask,
in sleep-soft speech,
“What key are we
singing,
ringing
in?”
— C.Birde, 4/20
“Full” — C.Birde, 12/19
She let go
despair,
& the Moon
kissed her brow,
smoothed her hair,
filled her
entirely
with
l i g h t.
— C.Birde, 12/19
“Selene” — C.Birde, 10/19
Pebbles &
pearls &
milky, cat’s eye
marbles;
halos &
oculi &
bright, silver
coins;
cups &
saucers &
spheres of
dandelions
blowing to seed.
But always and
above all these,
the Moon,
Oh,
the Moon.
— C.Birde, 10/15/19
“Moonlight” — C.Birde, 3/19
Spilling moonlight
from her pockets
— like pebbles
&
petals
&
peace —
she lays
a silvered path
for all
to follow…
And yet
we
h
e
s
i
t
a
t
e
.
.
.
— C.Birde, 3/19
“Horsetail Bamboo” — C.Birde, 10/18
Sing —
singly,
in union;
Tooth-edged wings
scraping,
bending,
bowing
in praise —
each night —
of the moon’s
ever-
shifting
aspect.
— C.Birde, 10/18
“Monochromati-cat” — C.Birde, 3/18
I will always
sing
my hopes to the Moon,
and whisper —
for safekeeping —
my secrets
to certain
and particular
cats.
— C.Birde, 3/18
Nightjars & Damselflies 