Less the windswept streetside ‘n its trials.
Your essence, earnestly put forth unto impermanence to weather storms of whetherwhims.
No rhymes for reading; hearing!
Reincarnate, they live as long as us.
Ink-blue; windswept; late-night.
Wait for words…
Eddied pools of meaning.
In nature’s nightless, new-born form I met the mossy fern.
I sketch the grass.
Paddling swan in feathers.
The time that passed.
I write these words to end a tanka.