Category: Tanka
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Day 14
I thought I had ripped that vine down dead, but it grows on, out of reach, even in winter, mocking me and my scythe both
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Day 13
a word for soft green with deep crevices fluttering in dark, yellow-gold sunlight, unburdened by wet snow
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Day 12
perhaps he does not love me as he once did or perhaps he never loved me as I thought he did — I cannot see in or out
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Day 11
remember how busy they are — babies, homework, office — when you are old and wanting them to serve you dinner
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Day 10
love is the blue of the sky behind clouds, beneath the earth, up to the moon, wrapping round all, of air, hidden and ever
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Day 9
that you will fade away over six point four years, so says the wise actuary, and that I should budget appropriately
Poems from in between 