Three Tanka

I
plucking strings
the player feels each note,
his eyes closed
he lets himself be surprised
by vibrations of bone or soul

 

II
the butterfly
splays its wings and holds,
in that stillness
it becomes a flower
’til it must butter-fly

 

III

wind tousles
the grain-weighted heads
of ripe wheat
the sway is erratic
the sound is subtle

3 thoughts on “Three Tanka

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