our long shadows on the snow
dark things are able to be
loved in secret between
the shadow and soul.
~Pablo Neruda
how shadows shorten
at high noon-- and slip
into distortion--as night
pulls the strings-- our shadows
dance in long talks,
and wind swept walks
between moon dancing and
cosmos prancing- curtailing
the cataclysm of hoofs-
a monet impression in the
greying snow--just outside
my living room window
is it a mourning dove
or a magpie--singing, and
nibbling on the old seeds
she sings on the side
in woody allen oboe tones
while shadows shorten
and then again--going to
shadow's greatest length- until
her evidence is no longer sensed
as night pulls the strings of
marionette birds--filling in
the choices of what to eat
hardened corn, sunflower,
cherry flavored black seed
a mix for royalty--birds on high
the domestication of a song
cannot be sung-- for freedom
needs the wings of starlings,
and the sheer agility of a robin:
between the worlds of wildness,
and homeland security
resting the case of pronoun,
pronounced just how it sounds:
he-she xx, xy, sweetness- to be
words/photos~kate lamberg (c) '17
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