Taking Hold






a tanka sonnet for Svetlana



her thirst for words…

a fawn at the waterfall

spilling moon


from burnished foothills

with the waxing moon

in her hands

across the star-capped ranges

above this world of dew


winnowing moon. . .

for all the stars she emptied

on the wind


passing moth. . .

a flame in the sanctum

begins to dance




2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. kirigirisu
    Sep 13, 2011 @ 14:39:18

    A work of great beauty and reverence, Claire. We know Svetlana drank deeply from that sacred waterfall. The memory of her now gently crosses those “star-capped ranges” to reside in a singularly intimate way in a heart that loved her.



  2. Claire
    Sep 14, 2011 @ 09:01:19

    Brian, your comment, beautiful in itself, resides in my heart also.

    Thank you, as always.



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