don't you love a grey day

don't you love a grey day
suiting a mood--like broken
pencil points, smudged erasures,
silver grey tap shoes in storage
the gauzy grey mohair blanket
folded, at the ready for a bone
chill evening in april-- when
the first of the hyacinths
brighten the previous mood
daffodils giving a temporary thrill
a hendrix solo probing deeply
in the darkness of a still saturday
morning--freed from
the predictable machinations
settling into the cadence
of her own design- dense
with greens, pinks, whisps
of unruly hair, spilled cold coffee,
chilled ivories, plainly waiting
for curved wintered fingers
inner listening to her own
beat, a water colored fellowship
as santana, the beach boys,
joni, judy, and miles
warm the cold morning air--
rearranging her hair
blessed rain removing-
all the debris in the regions
of a cluttered brain


words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18