Tanka by John W. Sexton

 

 

                               

                                my face and the sky

as green as the pond

we reflect in

centres stir

in the frogspawn

 

 

 

the whole length of the street

lamp-posts cast triangles

of yellow light

from beneath a darkened gate

two cats ease into dusk

 

 

 

risen crows

form a dark uneven mass

unfolding in the sky

somewhere far from where I am

your black hair covers a pillow

 

 

 

plucked fresh from the tree

you gently halve the crab apple

I place in your mouth

my fingertips touch your teeth

your green eyes are bright as leaves

 

 

 

                        above the larch spires

                        stars are small

                        inscrutable in their distance

                        I walk uphill against moonlight

                        pulling my shadow by the heels

 

 

 

                        at the draining-board

                        mammy scraped the eyes

                        from potatoes with her nails

                        blinded they succumbed

                        as a new seeing sprouted in me