fellowship with the stars

iced coffee meshes
with the sharp beaks
of birds blaring
beneath my window

facing north, no glare
to keep me from noticing
how the light to the west
beckons, without mistrusting

how we all can be lured
like a small piece of cuttle fish
a dangling participle
attracting hooks of songs

from fishing poles, played
softly down by the delta
deliberately waiting
for the first silver minnows

to appear through the clear
morning harbor- heaving
a cargo of snails
pushed up through the ages

of volvcanic sand- smearing
the dry sun burnt land
with new breathing life
dancing by the delta

to the blues my grandma
took me by the hand to show me
some summer evening
when the air was a perfect opaque

stocking- safe and without snares
we colored together in a coloring book
i learned was just a sky, and our fingers
pretended to be crayons

it was before i entered into
the public school system
before I knew that I could
do whatever i set my mind to

but secretly wishing i could,
at the purple of twilight
hold hands with the waxing moon
and in patterns of stars, tunes

rise up to meet
myself melting
with icarus, maintaining
maintaining the wind

so as to stay up
flying--until the first
glint of sunrise

found me sleeping
in paizley printed comfort
surrounded by butterflies

poem & photo~kate lamberg (c) '15