for W. G. Sebald
my hometown
memories hang from the eaves
of a rooming house
they tremble faintly
each time a day passes
loneliness
has her black eyes
through them
I see my past rolling
on the screen of spring nights
in mind space
time moves in my direction
it curls back
when I visit my mother
in daydreams
everyone I meet
speaks with a funny accent...
in dreams
I return to my hometown
an ocean away
Lynx, XXVII:1, February, 2012
A Room of My Own: July 4th Reflection Tanka
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not down in the gutter
or high in the cirrus clouds ...
at thirty
holding a cubicle job
I stare at the fireworks-lit sky
FYI: I was reminded of the followi...