A Tanka Sequence
she whispers,
'what does a poet do? '
running her fingers
through my chest hair...
I moan, 'makes love to the world'
the moon
soaking with wet light
our tangled clothes
on the sand...
one star, then many
she left me
for a woman in red
at the beach
I hear mermaids
singing each to each
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem