I sketch the grass.
Paddling swan in feathers.
In white/In black…
The countenance above: with fury laden.
Of ink; of thought.
Lazy were his steps; listless was his mind.
The earth; the moon.
The time that passed.
I write these words to end a tanka.
The dog’s bark ricochets in waves that break ‘gainst seagull’s calling.
Unkempt, the pharaoh’s hair, dark as the diskless sky, did dress her form.