Tanka
butterfly house—
opening and shutting
of delicate wings
the silent flight
of an artist's palette
a tornado
roared by the night
her father died
shaking the house...
she called out, 'bye, dad
that look in her eyes
as if she might remember
who I am...
the moment passes
we talk about the weather
bitter cold
the old couple
go back
to bed to cuddle
& keep warm
thinking
about the poem that isn't
mine yet...
still courting and she's
playing hard to get
the day
is a complete
write-off
visitors and interruptions
hail hammering on the roof
this road
to transformation...
no matter
how small the beginning
we start from where we are
art museum
today's display
a fraction
of the total collection
she stops at the iceberg
learning to ride—
life looks so different
when you're stuck
headfirst in a hedge
at the bottom of a hill
hard frost
winter petals on the window
pressed in the pages
of the family bible
wild spring flowers
