Here is a tanka prose in response to
alabaster skin as smooth as I remember slips from my fingers she walks away – don’t know where but gone, never to return…..
Mom said the beauty of character lay in steadfastness. Dad was progressive, believed in going with the wind, being flexible and jumping on opportunity when it appeared. I dare not open many doors in the house, for fear of what layers they might reveal. I cannot confront gaps between the layers, and stories that fell in the cracks never to re-emerge. I cannot confront truth. It applies to her, as much as to unknown bonds which might have created her.
will she be as pure don’t think I wanna see her ravaged by wolf Time destroyed imagination haunting for lifetimes