spring’s first iris

I watch her unfold

her blue kimono…

the comfort of rituals

in this shaken world


spring breeze

skipping over the stones

of a clear, blue sky

a copper-breasted chaffinch…

hope is on the wing


weeks I have walked

under low cloud

at last, the rays

of this closest star…




willow catkins still

holding moonlight…

the moments I will take

over the last horizon


this floating world–

frogspawn in the still pond…

glowing dots

on a globe in cyberspace

swept up in a tsunami


spring mist

the willow fills

with light…

the well-trodden paths

of my dreams



the rising sun

through budding ash trees

my day alive

with the blood of tanka


in the dark workshop

of the puppet-master

this heart of oak

longs to pulse

with real love


touching down

unfolding on your shores

the inadequacy

of ink…

a myriad paper cranes


now I know

what it is to be

a willow catkin

emerging from grey cloud

rays of spring light


at dawn

the thrum of starlings’ wings

the first rush of spring

felt in our veins…

we awaken together


the cup filled

to overflowing…

thirsty for spring

a chaffinch

empties its breast of song


for she who waits…

in its cygnet-grey buds

does the willow feel

ripples of summer light,

a swan on the water?


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