Eleven Tan-renga with Garry Gay

Lost beach ball

the waves keep tossing it

back and forth

            an hour to sunset

            the sun faintly orange

            ~     ~     ~

Morning fog . . .

still here

this evening

            and still the sheets

            hung on the line

            ~     ~     ~

Algae-covered

lily pond

one last goldfish

            circling, circling

            near the toddler’s fingers

            ~     ~     ~

Fog clearing

finding myself

at the cliff’s edge

            a wild strawberry

            lures me closer

            ~     ~     ~

Beached jellyfish

the flies and children

examining it

            skimming pelicans

            rise over the pier

            ~     ~     ~

Dry cracked lake bottom

a blue rubber swim fin

lost last summer

            a button pops

            from my red plaid shirt

            ~     ~     ~

Cloudy sky

the hawk hovers

without a shadow

            my breath held—click

            of the shutter

            ~     ~     ~

Late autumn

only the kite skeleton

left in the tree

            skid marks

            across the parking lot

            ~     ~     ~

Singing

to himself

the lone hiker

            for six breaths

            we stop lovemaking

            ~     ~     ~

Very late autumn;

the pumpkin that never got

a face

            one card taken

            from the recipe box

            ~     ~     ~

Weeping willow

someone crying

under it

            sheaves of a letter

            afloat on the pond