three nights
I dream of home
with locked doors—
a woman hands me a chart
marking the depths of the sea
my path
littered with the bones
of poems
I couldn’t write . . .
a blackbird whistling
a wren calling
in the piney wood
teacher teacher teacher. . .
I read aloud
from a scarlet leaf
my quarry—
a poem without words
dancing
through the green glade
barefoot as music
a wisp
of thistledown drifting
before me
I linger by the brook
to pan for fool’s gold
clear notes
rising from my flute—
the gift
of water flowing
in a life without rain
~Skylark 3:1, summer 2015
I dream of home
with locked doors—
a woman hands me a chart
marking the depths of the sea
littered with the bones
of poems
I couldn’t write . . .
a blackbird whistling
in the piney wood
teacher teacher teacher. . .
I read aloud
from a scarlet leaf
a poem without words
dancing
through the green glade
barefoot as music
of thistledown drifting
before me
I linger by the brook
to pan for fool’s gold
rising from my flute—
the gift
of water flowing
in a life without rain
An impressive, cohesive tanka series. I think my favorites are "my path" and "a wisp."
ReplyDeleteThanks, Janet!
ReplyDeleteAll of your tanka are so beautiful. This sequence is no exception. I especially liked "my path" and "a wren."
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mary!
ReplyDelete