AUTUMN TANKA POEMS

     I
You are annoyed
our drawers are full of rocks,
our books of pressed flowers;
but I know what you really think,
and besides, I will never stop.

     II
Waiting by yellow woods
I held the weak sun on my palms:
warm and light,
like your socks you threw me
going to swim.

     III
We reconciled
by a clear meadow stream, though
after embracing
you caught your balance
pulling on my ear.