awakening though falling

the fall is either you-- being welcomed
on hard ground, or you-- being shut down
by the cold cruel system--
so you blow the joint

and fill a back pack with the bare bones essentials
and you walk out the back door and do not look back
even though you are curious to do that; you walk with
long lunging strides through the cold winter's air, without

a care in the world--because worries are in the past
and you are in the present, presently placing
one foot in front of the other-- a sacred dance
that got lost in the the family tree, sometime

around napolean--and like a kite,
got stuck in the hollow
of the beech tree
for two hundred years

this walk that you have
just embarked upon
is now your way of saying
clearly, without debate

this is your path-
kindly step out of the way
soul's worship is a solo affair
and truth walks with self-respect

nary straying from the core
no more practicing for perfection
as the mist is finally settling in
for the evening- dust slowly

drifting to opposite sides
of the living room
its green shining
against the opposite wall

leaves a warm comforting
feeling, like saying what
you really mean--without fear
of your distaining- no apologies

in le grand amour scheme, la plaza
of de mayo, or ponce de leon --leave it
to betsy, barbie, and
manhattan clam chowder


Kate Lamberg
1/13/13

flying friends, photo by Kate Lamberg