hot night
damp sand holds the shape
of her breast
released from her swimsuit
into his cool waiting hands

six long months
without your hand in mine
i walk our old paths alone--
if there was one part of me
you'd never touched

a thousand tiny moons
from each cresting wave
i hear them fall--
50th birthday
someone asks about my dreams

*****************

I meant to leave
your bed at moonrise
...tangled sheets
softened by its glow
melded my body into yours

a frayed red thread: tanka poems
Clinging Vine Press, 2000

salt-glazed hairs
across the back of his hand
quiver in a golden breeze--
her half-stifled cry
when she breaks her long-held gaze

after Somerset Maugham