The horned things knew
the scent of blood usurping sweet hay
as the woman cracked and sang.
Still, we wait for sounds of plumage
in this world even angels shun.
Oh, Mariah, my life is now an apology
for how I forgot you, and let the tide
of my own life take me out to sea
when I knew that you needed me.
tankas and sonnets
are a species of orchid
This is what the tumor had done,
reduced the whole world to nothing