Five Tanka

iron hung
high in the temple
a bell
the call of a lost angel
in a new home

one night
a stranger’s hands hold
a glass
joy comes at last from
a vineyard of emeralds

we were not
lovers at the time
yet love
as a  third person
moved between us

the frail boat home
a storm
of wrists and forearms
below heavy clouds

an hour glass
the sands of time pass
thru airport doors
on the soles of hurrying feet
leather luggage with wheels

Jane Reichhold

If you have any comments on this poem, Jane Reichhold  would be pleased to hear them.