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.
I write these words to end a tanka.
Day-drinker ponders; rises; leaves the poem.
The cranes cry to the cov’ring cloud.
Do you hear?
These pages three, in their loose ‘n blank-lined state, are, together, a haiku.
Poles of gold; bridled porcelain.
People-watching; people, watching me.