These words, I whispered into the open door
of the hallowed, hollow tree:
“Open my eyes.
Sweeten my speech.
Soften my heart.
Gentle my hands.
Broaden my mind.
Strengthen my will.
Deepen my soul.
Remove my fear,
that I might better hear
your reply echo
throughout the elements
surrounding.”
And by “my”, I mean “our”;
and by “I”, I mean “we”.
— C.Birde, 10/20
“Gently, gently, gently.”
From Autumn’s house,
she called;
doors & windows
wide open flung.
“Your grasp –
so tight upon the latch –
restricts advancement
into
light.”
— C.Birde, 10/20
Sweet tang of autumn air,
cidery
cool enough to drink
through all the senses
Leaves fall like small fading
stars
to light the path ahead
forward into unknowing
I lift my cup to you in welcome,
dear heart,
and pour a second.
I have been
waiting.
— C.Birde, 10/20
Together,
apart.
We sit beneath
& within
the cool blue-green shade
of the great spruce tree,
with coffee &
grief &
glee,
& we feed all who come –
chipmunk & squirrel,
tufted titmouse,
jay & red-belly.
Hearts brimming,
undone,
we feed all who come.
Apart,
together.
My sister
& me.
— C.Birde, 10/20
Always…
always,
forever & a day,
the sea at its base
heaving
breathing
exhaling salt spray
each deep indrawn breath
released
in swell & spume against
granite slabs & stacks,
blocks & columns…
And those longstanding stones,
grooved equally with age,
call out in reply:
Yes, oh yes…
Wear away our ancient bones…
Grind down our blades & edges…
Relieve us – bit by bit by bit –
of our ponderousness…
Blunt us… Smooth us…
Spread us out beneath your
foam-laced tide…
Grant us curves unknown,
unfelt before your touch
‘till we emerge,
reformed.
Always streaming,
stroking,
singing
in ceaseless gray-green respiration,
the sea accepts all pleas,
all hopes, all griefs…
laps & soothes & polishes…
Ever willing to oblige,
always,
always,
forever & a day,
the sea receives,
survives.
— C.Birde, 9/20
“Cherish me,
praise me,
revere me –
or not.
As you will.”
She filtered
light & dark,
wind & rain
as she spoke.
“I will shelter you,
regardless.”
— C.Birde, 9/20
Crickets’ hypnotic trill & hum
Crisp-fizzling leaves & grasses
Hymn of gilt-edged, waning light
Cool air folds up the landscape
Sundials of hearts’ chambers slip
Summer’s flame-crown sputters
Grinning,
dancing,
Autumn comes to burnish
a new measure…
— C.Birde, 9/20
When
earth trembles &
that mantle of unmown grass –
lush &
green &
threaded through
with a purple fringe of wild asters –
separates from the soil of its making
to heave itself up up upright
on hindquarters of loam;
When
that vaguely humanoid shape,
soft-rubbed of keen features,
lurches with thick arms raised & sifting soil
to grope with blind,
blunted,
outstretched hands
like some unfathomably old
newly born golem of earth;
and When,
in umber-and-green-and-purple tide,
the shaken sward returns abruptly
to the soft mud of its recent birth
as if it never was…
Will its voiceless,
mossy,
desperate
roar have penetrated?
or will that thrashing cry have been dismissed
as dream?
— C.Birde, 9/20
“Oh,
dear one,”
she soothed &
sighed &
rustled,
“do not conceal
your tears…
They connect you
to all the world’s
sorrows &
joys…”
— C.Birde, 9/20
No longer
can I write here,
beneath the shaded
pergola,
blooming with the hum
of bees and the scent
of Virgin’s Bower
as that flowering vine
casts off its petals
like late summer
snow.
No.
You misunderstand.
It is, now, no less
lovely, no less
pleasant;
but the task of fitting
thoughts to words
and words together
has been usurped.
Wait…
Again,
and yet again –
interruption.
The bowl of peanuts
swiftly empties.
Restraint.
Patience.
Calm.
Fine words, indeed;
but ill-fitted to
a chipmunk’s mouth
and never ceasing
needs.
— C.Birde, 9/20
