Tanka by Robert Wilson

she yells at me

between phone calls

to her sister

with a

stained glass smile

she steeps

the moon in a

cup of tea

sweetened with

dreams

think of me

when the moon

settles into a

rice field

planted with stars

she yells like

a jilted lover

peeling anger

in a bell

ringing winter

steadfast, the starfish,

glued to a piling

seen later

in an old postcard

after mother died

freeing itself

from her chest,

an egret chasing

moonlight

across the lake

shadows,

pretending i don't exist,

unless i dance with them

under a bridge

chasing dawn