Saturday, January 26, 2013

tanka Sequence

 tanka Sequence

with the lamp on
I see a crater
where our bed last lay…
we watch the distance burn      

you are
the last ring of smoke
to be held tight…
we’re lucky we’re not art,
I’m a full cup of water

how silent the trees
how loud the shots of hunters
how broken
the crow wings…how hidden
the pocket knife tearing desire

sunken moon
my mind suspended
in the sky…
moonlight cannot polish stone
or pester our transparencies 

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