a sudden drop in temperature, while listening to samba

(for jobim)....
holding loosely, there's change
in a sudden drop in temperature
the way clutching in automatic, leaves us
pining for the standard convertible

summer balmy evenings wait,
without pardoning the storm--
we do get on with the seemingly
never ending winter, having us up

before dawn deliberately walking
armored in wool, fleece, thirsty boots--
attacking the source of melancholy
creates more to box up and send

hardly puffing in our face to face
misting, fogging up glasses
kisses in the convertible
late summer, strong scents of seagrass

cranberry bogs wafting,
tart fragrances slowing down....
by the rice paper birches--
planted with care at the northeast corner

how celebrated the death of wind
when sun emerges between
the languid birch branches
sweeping madly once in february

soon rest for a trifle--tenderness never
felt so undone- floating felicity, bringing
in the whales who, with bellies down--
milked the warmth of the atlantic ocean

so early in the storm, the trade winds
wallow, flatten and die...together
trusting the unfolding of all
that was meant to be said

so early, the silent arbor vitaes
in syncopation, purvey
the placid south-westerlies
of a more than ready spring

words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15