Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Old House [a tanka]

how slowly
the old house crumbles
a heap of stone
long before the fire
burned all my love

This tanka may eventually become part of a longer chain of haiku and tanka about the house where I spent my early years - a well of sorrow, a thorn, a dead tree.

Published in Makata International Poetry Journal [], Vol. 6, No. 3, March 2005.

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