she says,
the spring morning air
is throbbing
with promise...
...
Alone in the darkness of this May Day morning, I can hear the droning of my muse's air-raid sirens. Waiting for the next explosion of words drives me crazy like a moth flying into the summer fire.
...
in De Wallen
the summer sunset sky
through a brothel window...
one woman looks out
...
she cuts
a muskmelon in half…
I write
rewrite, and revise
...
'Malala Day
is not my day' thundered
across the room...
a girl opens her new book
...
The 10th tanka in the sequence, Politics/Poetics of Re-Homing
alone
on Chinese New Year
...
salmon wedge
the Pacific Ocean
between mother and me
...
grassy fields...
nothing stands between me
and the sun
...
the 4th tanka in the sequence, Politics/Poetics of Re-Homing
'to me, time is
...