tanka – Page 18

The Wind

An old heart moving
against the Warragul wind,
to feel the cold rain.
Admiring the wild green hills,
slowly devoured by houses.

I gave you my youth
I give you all my wrinkles
My youth, My wrinkles
I gave, and I give all I
have without expectations

An aversion to
the kettle in the kitchen.
Hidden from my sight,
a cup of tea calls to me;
the kettle sits in the bin.

an untouched soul waits
transient lovers pile up high
another sunset
she pens the sky a letter
a love letter to the hues

raindrops fall slowly
droplets splash onto the wood
sorrow seems fleeting
touching the wood that is you
tactile grief in letting go