Individual Cherita:
in our courtyard
the dead snag
has silvered with age
we still hear
faint echoes of birds,
but have forgotten how to sing
you lift me up
from this vantage point
I can see
a parallel universe,
in which the only truth
is mercy
Tanka Sequence:
Reaping
the highway
smothered with ashes . . .
every year,
this debate between
urbanites and farmers
city allotments,
each marked by fencing . . .
when did we start
being afraid of strangers,
being afraid to share
greening . . .
even arctic foxes
build gardens—
with one seed at a time,
could we not feed the world
Individual Tanka:
clouds break
against desert peaks . . .
shards fall
into the open mouths
of thirsty children
beyond
this inner darkness,
snowlight
erases the stains
on my conscience
bullets of crows
on gunmetal nights . . .
a deeper shade
of anguish echoes
in her bones
nothing
but cold comfort
in knowing
that the sea you loved
now spirits you away
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