you were always
planning our next trip
summer solstice
the darkness
filled with fireflies

something
to be salvaged
after the storm
a bird's song rising
from the woodpile

Winds were 60 mph last night. Downed power lines in Cedar Hill.

straight-line winds
knocking trees 
into the pond
a school of fish
check out the new arrivals

With The Moon

These are tanka I wrote several years ago. They were published on "The Anglo-Japanese Society" website which is no longer accessible.

with the moon 
against the darkness
I start out small 
in just a sliver
of canoe

lost streets
that twist without reason
except to hold
the shadows
of other people's stories

in the anatomy
of a gray feather
barely a spine--
is that all it takes
to travel so lightly

this morning the river
carries the news before
I can write it down
three deer are swimming
towards me

buried in hands
a face tired
of holding itself up
I know not if this church
is for prayer or sorrow

the red-faced stare
of a rundown house
like tall tales
no one remembers
where the bricks came from

through hills and valleys

the water flows uninterrupted

until it turns into river--

we drink in the views 

along with traces of metal

For Ken

so this Christmas

overcast and rainy

I stay close to the fire

holding onto your words

a little longer

the book discussion opens
with an arranged circle
of mismatched chairs
we get to know each other
by putting on our name tags

maybe it's because
the pictures have been taken
off the walls
I'm so shaken by dreams
that I can't remember

election day jitters
I watch a cloud
of starlings choose
the sycamore
over the maple