Old Wound, A Tanka Sequence

first winter light ...
the snake of my desire
for the past
lies coiled around
the base of my spine

an immigrant
living on the winter land
of nostalgia:
the past is my home
although it’s lost

I hear
the siren singing
Home, Sweet Home ...
a part of me
jumps off the cliff

Chinese New Year
on the TV screen ...
I whisper of home
in a voice
now foreign to me

NeverEnding Story, March 20, 2015