I could sleep
away the season’s end,
head upon this pillow
of bronze ferns
& oak leaves turned
the color of doeskin,
Cheek pressed
to this still-green bed
of moss as you sing
against my ear
Please, let me remain
undisturbed until
the heat has passed
Though this means
I must wait
another year to hear
your song.
— C.Birde, 9/22
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
Overhead,
the Dog Star pants
& prowls a sky stretched
blue & rainless,
casts unhurried shadows
upon once-green grasses
stitched through
with summer’s leonine heat
turned rasping,
wheaten.
— C.Birde, 8/22
Locusts
applaud
our efforts at the fringe
of pinetops & wind
set sharp against
the mountain’s
falling hip,
with thinned
& thinning blue sky
caught
about our crowns
& wildflowers
nodding,
sighing at our
earth-dusted feet –
“Yes,
oh, yes,
you’re truly
h e r e.”
— C.Birde, 8/22
With sidelong glance
& gesture,
she remarked:
“I
am my own
M u s e.”
— C.Birde, 7/22
Wreathed
in pale,
lemon-scented Datura,
softly,
she spoke:
“May all your loyalties be
true,
worthy,
&
returned.”
— C.Birde, 7/22
She wrapped me
in Summer’s cloak,
pressed a star’s kiss
to my brow,
& said:
“Do not let
your grief
douse
your light.”
— C.Birde, 7/22
“Come with me…”
she took my hand,
drew me through her
birdsong wake.
“We’ll sit together
at the Four Sisters’ knees
& listen
to their green-leafed
memories.”
— C.Birde, 6/22
Hands clasped
& pressed
to breast-
bones,
we stood –
enraptured –
as Wood Thrush
dropped
each liquid note
down through
the trees’ canopy –
like hope,
like light –
then alit
upon the path
before us
& took
his unassuming
bow.
— C.Birde, 6/22
“All things exist…”
She held the wind
in her arms,
& song in her hair;
her stance gathered
forests, rivers,
mountains.
“…in a state of
simultaneous-
ness.”
— C.Birde, 5/22
Nightjars & Damselflies 