The wind whispers across the night,
what to do when out of sight? Not so sure
not too bright. You think you can get away
with anything, in the night.
Writer in San Francisco, CA

Slid into heaven
Thanks to raven wings and bones
It is a dark room
Scattering of beads, thunder
I wake in the morn
poem written in Tanka form
The wind whispers across the night,
what to do when out of sight? Not so sure
not too bright. You think you can get away
with anything, in the night.