String #3.. Sixteen Tanka

at first, I thought
her radiance was happenstance
some shampoo
may have done the trick
but she always glows; she sparkles

thirsty myrtles,
lest your equanimity be darkened,
I'll pray it rains
will a forthcoming kiss
first learn of my loyalty

unbeknownst to me,
her severe mental illness
she would unleash
the you're my father syndrome:
the I must kill yous; the you're hims

I reach for the surf
with delirious toes eager
to remember...
a starfish's graze
and a coincidental mooring

our embrace
even startles birds
in its profundity
sonorous chirping of
a higher pitch, the plum result

O vocal chords,
you always deliver
there is no other
only one I love; you
faithfully remind me

the calendar
confirms it is not mine
still, I assuage her
on the phone--and bless the birth,
despite our ripples of calm wailing

they were crusted tears
I palmed a few and they rolled
like tiny marbles
weightily, they awoke me
she was due from another

into the pewter,
a sprinkle of lavender lent
each dusk
of ages past--will my love
outlast such sacrifice

a rose's scent
is frequented more
popular, too,
is a daisy's charm:
these favorites of soldiers

falling leaves sustain
a bleak sadness, only until
they are embraced
by the mirth of every wing
drawing their kindness upwards

then, a sombre
melancholy—one last leaf to fall
to bypass the mist
of forgetfulness and
stand a mirror of regret

her garden inspires
each lady from these parts
to saunter and wave,
hoping a cheerful approach
is worthy of roses

full moons
escape from our lips
when we sing
astrologers keep wondering
how marvelous this expanse

falling on them,
the leaves make smile a grimace
a glare finds deep repose
this quiet, whirling power
entices breath and core

is this a gentle breeze
or the remnants of a far off
bullhorn's wisp,
once the startling
succumbs to familiarity