By Madison   [m.madison@usa.net]
Date: 2 April 2001

Shikoku

         The shred of regret is a 
       gold crane; is washi paper.
  Folded and tucked like tendrils 
     behind an ear.  I listen for 
            its name.  Harvest of 
            snow banks.  Its face,
              pressed into a wing.
          I listen.  Hear nothing.
           Surging waves of blood 
           through veins.  Breath 
 captured by vapored breath.  Fly 
    to Shikoku, tongueless regret.
      Leave me to listen to these
         gentle sounds, ripplings;
      pianissimo eye kiss rubatos.



M Madison
02 apr 01