sometimes he pulled back
like a clipper ship when at rest in the harbour
she knew that by dawn he would break
into an articulate course

wing on wing for the morning
light to catch beneath the soft
downy sails, set tight and high
for heeling on blue black waters

hardly subsides, until after five–when the sails are let in again–ropes carry stories of strength and forebearance
much to the chagrin of all who witness
the tossing of tides, the perilous way

those souls do hide
between the crest of the wave
and the swirly flattening of the bay
in one more day the moon shall be new—

and we will know what to do as we
sweat it out in low attitudes–
neck in neck–the magazines

settle on low grassy verandas
iced tea and lemonade,
drunk on the forgiving earth
tremulous nerves are assuaged

in the brief second of fire wood
being split–and the moment of justice–
thundering lips sent in..
from the balkans, on holiday. the heart
copyright © Kate Lamberg all rights reserved