The sun buries the night,
smothering it into the hills,
heartache on the soul, encounter
of a soul alive in the darkness.
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 sun buries the night,
smothering it into the hills,
heartache on the soul, encounter
of a soul alive in the darkness.