sometimes

sometimes when the creek runs high
and the sky appears as tiny daubs
of cornflower blue- breathing through
and between the branches of the maple-

its overly abundant leaves crowding
the wide open spaces of a quiet sky--
we will walk besides the rising waters,
as egrets incarnate--with grace we

shall duck our heads to sip the moving
waters, and stand without a single
wobbling- centered, as if we had always
done this dance- as if we awakened

to just another coastal day- delighted
with the fragrance of frangipani,
whisper pink roses opening...
without a lot of effort, so close

to the edge of a rising moving creek
so early, the tips of grasses still hold
the morning dew in angel crystals--
as they are touched by a summer sun

poem/photo~kate lamberg (c) '16