The Renga Party

the renga party—

       a choice between

       sake and wine

a bird book

       in one hand—

the master’s fingers tremble

a moon verse—

all I can think of

are puns

between links,

his blank poem slip

becomes a paper crane

the master rejects

the verse without a kigo—

harvest moon at the window

laughter

       at last

              for the missing link

not her turn—

she picks up a dictionary

. . . the hall clock chimes

in the quiet

after the night cuckoo,

sound of erasing

a sudden sneeze—

I must be allergic

to flower links

the master’s thumb-worn saijiki

       . . . my slip of paper

folded as an airplane

renga party over . . .

       breeze from the window

       scatters all the paper