The fifth full moon
Ash cooling
a war horse
grudgingly raises his front
leg
Gate of labyrinth
still masks
covert glances
menacing looks
tattooed
Crossing streams
I look into the dark water
old homes and villages
Collecting a word – ‘tà’ –
buried in the lost canon
ask am I surrounded
by friends or foes
Only the calm in a pale blue page
Ah! a dense world of spirits and ghosts
Poet's Note: tà: 1. descending 2. dark (force)