Breathing In

in tanka and haiku form

Rest, but not so deep
as the leaves of this pond that
mask its silver face.
See I have made holes for eyes.
See I have made them for us.

That we may see clear
our bodies aging, folding
back into the breath,
the Great Inhalation at
the moment of our dying.

Weary, all of you
in the mesh between the past
and what is to be,
the long line of italics
all those bone-soft memories.

When the river swells,
when the molten breasts do heave,
there's nowhere to stand.
Not even decadence grows
an extra set of teeth, but ...

Do not be so quick
to tear the sacred threads off
the idols we clothe.

They're transfixed before
the final meaning of things,
and they are quite cold.