tanka   wild phlox its purple rush along highways ever coming and going why this perennial flight?   even my reply turns to cobalt blue his name his name echoes in ink   how still his wings glide through brittle pine hawk's shadow in clarity of endless blue needles shiver green sunlight   pages turn... old stories become new when grandchildren see our baby pictures for the very first time   sijo   come, let’s comb white cotton clouds from these last-of-summer days we'll roll them out on a bed of leaves close by the singing stream lullabye my little one, rest in sweet dreams of make-believe