i've always loved the day after
the full moon; this snow moon
is no exception to my rule
as scattered mop strands
begin to unite in one useful
operative verb: to clean
requires a working mop,
a focus without distraction
is a seed germinating
in the darkened circle of willis:
that drive around-allowing
thoughts, to be re-directed
as pink himalayan sea salt
becomes one with the broth-
adding flavour, yet cannot help
but change itself-
the pink disappears..
(to where we need not care)
hands that heal others cannot
help but be healed on touch's
yielding surface of spongy kindness
laws of chemistry, blurred
by the innate kindness(es)
of others who are thinking
of waves swelling, and water fowl
fear nothing-- but only wish space
to wiggle flap laugh
Kate Lamberg
local sea gulls~photo by Kate Lamberg
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