Walking Japan: A Tanka
Through weeping cherry: Fisherman, knee-deep, watches red festival float being hauled across the bridge; sunset silhouettes spiders.
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the moth’s silky wings so brown, and feathered fern tufts taste autumn morning. the crow just wants the body; wing pieces blow in the breeze.
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Boots, the stray cat, lies black and glossy on the porch, ignoring tomatoes ripening above.
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sunday afternoon january 3rd start work tomorrow; today is leftovers and a good book
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rain plunges past my window to lush sports field– a neat row of ibis contend with no one
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the quiet hum of this passenger train as we slide over submerging suburbs– breathtaking
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the city drifts in the smoke of spring so soon after floods I just watch from the balcony half moon going up in smoke
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in the nets a cricket bat cracks – almost hit by a swallow I forget what correlation means
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midnight the possum rustles as it leaves I lean over the balcony throw a banana after it
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