Tanka by Fr. Robert Pecotte

Pale hues

of orange and pink

wash over the prairie:

when will the sun set

on the expanse of my soul…

Sparrows

take to the air…

one remains

branch bound, singing

to me of winter’s bread.

I open the door

and smile, as I enter

the bed-room—

where I can rest, until

I remember tomorrow…

Sparrows

refuse to sing during

these days of rain;

how did the sky know

this sadness in my heart?

The scent of lilies

and incense mix

with tears…

falling from my eyes:

these memories of love.

Twilight fades…

waves wash the shore

in the ebb and flow

of emotion I waver

between what is and could be.