Tanka
armed with
comb
scissors and mirror
I cut my beard...
leave speckled hairs on the grass
for sparrows to wire their nests
a west wind
leans against the cherry tree
leaves
fly off like
monarch butterflies
late night
café
remembering all the things
I loved about you
& the little differences
that grew over time
new power
tools
in the basement...
this urge
to go down there
& drill holes in something
golden dream
of an optimist...
the suckers
of his money tree spread
as far as the eyes can see
my mother
on the other side
of the world
even on the phone I can
sense the smile in her voice
one of those
clear nights
when stars seem brighter, closer
look she says
poking out her tongue
you can almost taste them
the things
that stick to memory...
what kind of glue
holds you fast to me
through earthquakes and tornadoes
this cosmos
light and dark expanding
through the void
weaves male and female
into itself
they say he
died
with a woman in his arms
or was it a guitar...
the last song he wrote
dedicated to her
