she felt the torrents hitting brick, plants, trees,
a softening spring earth-- bouncing
the droplets of nourishment
back to the sky, in a kind
of game of catch, mitt-less
mindfulness tends gardens
better than any tools bought
when alone we remember
the star never leaves- just jumps
out of vision's path to pursue
deeper rocks buried, stones on surface
glow in no moonlight, no stars remind
the facts buried underneath the feeling
found easily-no digging- apparently
pensiveness prowls around the worried heart
no seeking hiding places, as rain and starlessness
saw away any need to be seen, any particular
way- as it is written in the forehead of grandmothers
the sweeping of dust from corners, once illegible
basking in the sun, creeping to be seen
behind low hanging grey clouds, caressing
all the babies in the world
waiting to be born
Kate Lamberg
pond water rising~photo by Kate Lamberg
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