gliding kayaks ...
ripple after ripple
overlapping
summer stars that bridge
what words never could
Added:
the time it takes
for my aging beagle
to close his eyes—
crumbled dog-treat pieces
left in my jean pocket
FYI: My tanka below could be read as its sequel:
my neighbor’s dog
hit by a red sports car ...
after our walk
she tells me she sees
his shape in the clouds
Bright Stars, VI, 2014
Added:
one tide cycle
after another and another
across the Pacific
pulling out, returning anew ...
my heart still on the other shore
Added:
to stay or to go
I murmur to myself
again and again
through the autumn wind
each leaf zigzags its way down
Added:
all things must pass,
the seasons teach me this —
yet I still press
my face into her lingerie
forgotten in the basket
