Memories fragile, ripped away
a stretch, reaching for-was it something
I said? Was it what I did? I can’t remember.
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
Memories fragile, ripped away
a stretch, reaching for-was it something
I said? Was it what I did? I can’t remember.