”I never saw a wild thing / sorry for itself. / A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough / without ever having felt sorry for itself.” DH Lawrence, relayed by Doria Roberts
emboldened by the sky
perched among sweet blossoms
one old little bird looked
beyond the dawn’s tendrils
dreamed off to another bliss
with one last kinetic kiss
I suspect it’ll take a bit to regain my mojo. Too much spent towards what ultimately was an unnecessary loss. One cog was too bored? Uninterested? Inconsiderate? Unthinking? Unable to push, and I invested too much in trust and hope.
tired of people
as a whole and not, mind you,
i find myself sleep-walking
through inconsequential crowds
Yes, tankas are easier even than haiku or senryū. And one last bit:
No one screams compassion into the night, so the night learned yearning.
(Oh, and our taxes? Long finished.)