new fences erected . . .
the old neighbor builds up
his wall of fear
brick by brick as tall
as the Trump Tower
Atlas Poetica, 38, 2019
A Room of My Own: Wooden Jesus Tanka
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slanted sunlight
reaches Wooden Jesus on the cross
I close my eyes
... yet nothing whatever emerges
in my mind or my heart
FYI: This tanka could be read as...