79/365 - 84/365 || Domestic Tanka

You feed the baby
in the backyard— while I walk
around the warm house,
with buckets of green water,
for plants wilting on the porch.
•
Another listing
of negation: no crickets,
no fire flies, only
sudden, endless rain falling
on top of this house of light.
•
Suddenly sleep tugs
at my sleeve—insistent child—
I almost consent—
until sudden wordings fall
in my lap, as steady rain.
•
While waiting for words
to emerge on blank paper,
the floor fan spirals—
creating drafts in the room—
coiling back empty pages.
•
It is time I moved
the round stone head of Buddha
among the milkweed:
soft divine fires for his night,
new platitudes for his days.
•
You sleep soundlessly,
never moving beside me
as my hand furiously
motions over lines
of paper, a soft blurring.
•