Saturday, January 22, 2011

Five tanka

caught
between a violent
storm and sunset
the fish beneath my knife
stares, unblinking



on a beach
of receding tides
sorrow
draws its line
so gracefully



this nameless passion
swirling
in the autumn wind
unlike fate
escapes me



careless
in the shadow of reeds
a mud bank
the rhythm of rain
hitting water



ridiculous
with his silver coin
an old man scowls
at his stooped reflection
in the wishing well

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