Before and After Tankas

The Flood, High Tide © 2012 A Leon Miler

The night room closes
With Crumbling roses and tea,
With dust and ginger
Steamed in the whistling sea,
Then chilled in old empty sheets.

The round table waits
With silent morning sun-bursts,
Waits for toast and eggs,
For tea poured from decanters,
Sweetened to smooth the bitter.

The night room closes
As lilies unfold slowly
To white butterflies
And kisses that whisper songs,
That flutter cold cheeks at dawn.

The round table waits;
It waits until the clouds will
Spread the cloth and plates,
Cut fresh the morning roses,
Pour the tea out, steeped in rain.

p.s. Yes, I randomly steal my dad’s images for my blog. Please visit his blog here. His artwork always makes my poems seem better, somehow.

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