Tanka
I
English words
line up in my throat
for a good flight...
they stumble off my tongue
falling onto hard ears
II
staring at
my naked poems, he sighs
poor poet!
put on your clothes
and take off your masks
III
I am not
alone because misery loves
company—
I am drawn to the charm
of a depressed face
IV
neon night
in Dundas Square—
alone
I mingle
with faceless crowds
V
sweat pours
off my brow onto paper
pooling
into a mass, emerging as
a butterfly—my poem soars
VI
alone, lying
on the couch, listening
to spring rains
pelting on windows
I ponder love's grammar...
VII
when was love
our transitive verb
turned into
your common noun...the garden path
is strewn with fallen twigs
VIII
we parted
on an autumn night
her face
embedded in the moon—
reminder of flower heart
