If on a Winter's Morning, an Immigrant: A Tanka Sequence

the bird
of my dreams was shot
dead
my shadow
wanders aimlessly

breathing
in unison with my shadow
I wait
for his time
slain by night

my life
has withered
verse by verse
in the rhythm
of short, long, short, long, long

if I die
without footprints left behind
I will be lost
among floating snowflakes
in a world of one color

Lynx, XXVI:1