Tanka by Jonathan Davis
Blossom does not fall
On the lawn of my
garden
In
the early spring.
Instead, it reaches
upwards
Cupped
to catch the early dew.
Littered twigs and
stones
On
the lush grass of the park.
Stumbling, holding
hands
My daughter and I
walk on
Looking
for strangers.
On two tatami
in
ultimate luxury
decorations
gone.
Sharing
tea. Could enemies
be reconciled, or provoked?
Spring notes
The rain has finished,
and now there is close calmness.
Across the flat sky
an intangible blanket
brings a burst of blackbird song.
The traffic noises
carry well through the damp air.
Ebbing and flowing,
Sighing and sometimes groaning,
running well, in the moisture.
At the garden's peak
rises up the cherry tree.
Its upper branches
modestly point to the ground,
dripping on to the shrubs below.