I am too far from where the rains descend. I am divided from the cool of shore And grey of sea. And where the river wends is far beyond my grasp. Oh, go before and reconcile the stars with where they end and I begin; I am not anymore. Until
I remain empty Words go in and come out: both. But those that fall out Are full of my very soul. I cannot be replenished. postscript For day 17. Just a tanka, because finals are kicking my TAIL. I've written 1.25 papers out of 3.5 for
I speak Into voids and hollow trees In the middle of night. I speak And no one hears My tree falling. I speak And nothing comes of rhetoric But division. I write And wars inside come forth In art. postscript For day 16. From "Out of the quarrel with
You look to stars for light and nothing more For beauty has no meaning to a brain That has no mind attached. You stand on shores And calculate the density of rain Or gauge the atmosphere without the wind To gently cool and soothe or stir your soul, For you
I trace your chiseled jawline with my hand Enraptured by the cold and steely gaze Of living death etched sorely on your face. My breath is caught--I draw back as you stand And push me sideways. I can only hold The hope that you know who I am within, And