i copied my poem and it became lost to the March wind.

trying so hard to clutch onto its truth
essence slips through our grip
offering the simple grace
as stark trees pressed on melting snow

knowing the words touched
one breathing soul (or one fleeting bird)
that is enough; i can breathe between
the bite of its bark, and wooden arms reaching

walking more slowly, steps find
the footprints of remembered strength
braided with this new fragrance
snow melting, branches soon to bud

to be intimate with all things
is dropping the need for anything
to feed the automony of soul
it's done, deliberately-then flung

becoming waters rising
beyond the sky we notice
when we sit against cedars
never rushing nor holding the river

words and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '14