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.


  1. You make the words flow so easily.

    Your life feels so complete, so joyful.



  2. Appreciate your comment Mark!
    The words sometimes do not show themselves... this week in fact was a dry spell. Maybe this weekend will prove otherwise.

    Hope things are well for you.


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