Used then cast off,
the empty bone
china rice bowl
on the stand beside the bed
fills with shadows
in the crepuscular light
from the hall.
Month: February 2019
My sister married a sailor
and spends her time chasing
water underneath the bridge.
The bridge was never burnt
the night the torch was lit,
so now, she’s crossing it again,
returning home to watch
the window,
the harbor,
and the sea.
-written in 1979