“a sandpiper is a nested tanka,” Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé

by MP

all nine wear caftans

the whirling dance of cornsilk –
someone’s always counting heads
stopping at ten-to-seven

november, month of podiums

circling, an albatross
landing on water for krill

the pilgrim dragging cymbals
elfin, dinky hopes
in a footfall trail

a glistening in the dark

they shimmer beyond rituals
in strobe, withdrawal

and prime lights like love