More tanka from my time in Flagstaff. 1973-75. Number two pencil on yellow legal pad. – JDW
Climb down from the top.
You must promise not to fall,
not to try again,
nor answer the siren call.
I bow only once.
Golden hair, a smile.
I can still hear her laughter.
Inseparable.
She died just a year ago.
Why are there so many clouds?
Give me a kiss twice.
Softly your hand on my breast.
Rest yourself in peace,
and then we must start anew.
Not all mountains are snowcapped.
Look down the valley.
Kiss the clouds as they pass by.
Make swollen the streams,
change from season to season,
and remain the same.
Summer’s sun dries brown.
Leaves fall and autumn oranges.
The winter blows white.
And spring does with bright color.
Once again, I am reborn.
