Category: Tanka
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Day 26
you, broad elm, shaved down to earth – I stand now on your great stump, yearn to be your medium, tell what you will
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Day 25
I claim I know who I am and how, what to write down, but nighttime, wet snow falling presses me on that point
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Day 24
a clean sheet of paper hides every sin, each fumble and misspelling, so you think God spoke to me clean through, that I am innocent
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Day 23
I wonder if the beams from streetlights singe your fine needles, exhaust you, if only true dark can heal you
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Day 22
rushing her work, damp snow plunges through night air, knowing full well her fate is to dissolve and river-away come morning
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Day 21
when you tell of youth, and risk, and being bold, you do not reveal the cloister in your heart — how even now it hides itself
Poems from in between 