when walking

when walking, having already
known how free our steps
have gone flying---
for color is never trapped

and joy is never forced
on burnished trails, our
joined hands, in dyads
of katydids and dragon mouthed daisies

songs are created before
the words spill out in duplicate--
and one and two and we all fall
down in a harvested heap

a glow that could be spotted
from another province above
as angels swish, getting
the signals purveyed from piourettes

turning into counts, and
weaving in some words
to truly fly with birds lifting
no vacant spaces when

western skies offer lullabies
in keys of de-sire', scorched
by the continual fire
we have become;

finally walking through,
as jocular angels braid
hearty herbal brew--wildflowers
round our ankles, along with
belles of sacred spirals....dancing

~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '16