Friday, August 7, 2015

5 tanka

a snowdrop
wavering in the mist
our love
coerced by the wind
droops further


my new specs
i use the old one--
who says you'll no longer need
your ancient visions


when I came home
I saw Death waiting
I called my sons:
leaving you to the whims 
of sunshine 


may you climb your way
towards the moon--
we planted our dreams
in a vale of dead colours


if caterpillars
could feed on yesterdays...
(my) old dreams
for want of fresh wings 


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