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…

daffodil

~

sunrise

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

~

capillaries

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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