Deluge
There is something intoxicating about thunderstorms. Not just rain. Whether it’s a drizzle or a downpour matters not; there is nothing special to me about droplets hitting the ground, no… Read more »
Tag: Tanka
Sliver
Needle-sharp icy shards pinprick memories of unkept promises. . In the night, even in dreams, she no longer speaks his name.
Ru{m}ination{s}
. . Mist-blurred and damp-streaked reflection obscures; mirror obfuscates fogged form imprecise, indefinite. Clarity is elusive. . .
Blossom
Severance of dead limbs, through storm’s rage or strife’s blade, forces healthy growth. . {His silence sliced her to the quick. She bled… and then she bloomed.}