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exchange tanka.
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My Arms Aloft
I see now that you
Have chosen him—not me—
And I’m left nothing—
Just the August wind and sun
My arms aloft, my head back.
Cicadas silenced
Rare-sparked lusts sated by death
Skins brittle as reeds
As my heart hollows with him
Brief rush to the extinction
And so September
Rains and withers memory
Calls deer mice to lodge.
Neither mourn nor regret you,
Seasonal chaff that you are.
Abandon in shame
The trees their cloaks, stark exposed
To burrow root deep
Or beg as lonely murine
Its lapse manumitted
Now a mouse, are you?
Who spreads filth in covert night
Harbors ‘neath my bed?
Would that I might sleep at ease
End your gnawing at my dreams.
False dreams they are which
Promise peace and winter warm
When withering calls
This mouse to lodge, this bed to mount
Your heart full and arms aloft
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