Archie Leach — A Dream

An artfully altered photo, taken of a television screen while watching a movie, of Cary Grant.
“A.Leach” — C.Birde, 1/22

Who are you to me,

Mister Leach?

That you glide

from nostalgia’s

silver screen?

Stride languidly

through Dream plains

of wild Psyche?

Debonair in style,

urbane of gesture,

smooth-suited

& Brylcreemed

to characteristic

perfection;

utterly untouched

by Time’s pitiless

transit

Coy-smile flirtation

Determinedly

searching for…

questioning…

Dream within dream,

thrice calling.

Ever & always welcome,

dear Mister Leach –

please, do visit again.

Still, waking curiosity

compels:

Who are you to me?

— C.Birde, 1/22

Ask… — A Poem

IMG_20200422_090512_056~2.jpg

“Nightstand” — C.Birde, 4/20

 

Ask

something concrete…

What books I’ve accumulated,

over the past five weeks –

eight, thus far:

three new; five used;

two classics;

one not yet received.

(Ask

for an illustrative

Venn Diagram.)

Ask

if the stack on the nightstand

leans –

those Dead Girls & Cousins

& Innkeepers & Unicorns;

the modern-day Persephone;

the House of Tremontaine

& Castle Gormenghast

all listing crookedly,

patiently,

waiting for Wintering.

Ask

how much I read –

two paragraphs each night,

maybe three

(the stack could last indefinitely);

a comfort of words,

in self-prescribed doses.

Ask

the tangible, the specific;

I’ll answer eagerly,

each query a forbidden fruit –

tart, acidic, honey-sweet.

But please –

oh, please –

avoid the vague,

the nebulous,

the hazy;

do not disrupt

this tenuous balance;

do not ask me

how I

am.

 

— C.Birde, 4/20