She sings her screw-loose rhythm and blues
in worn out tennis shoes.
with a flame that will set the Midwest ablaze,
I trace the maze of capillaries and veins
back to her arteries.
We wait for the moment to pass,
finding beauty in the rain;
softness between steel.
The road bends—her lips curl.
Hands steady. Eyes on tar-marked Asphalt.
Turning off the radio she says:
“that even rain has a melody
that forces us to harmonize.”
I laugh. She frowns. I smile.
“this is Nature’s Jazz.”
The rain is the sound of serendipity,
accompanied by random percussion;
it’s layers of complexity we can’t think of;
it’s a love we can’t force,
we just have to let happen.
Raindrops against the windshield;
an elegance I won’t soon forget.
Rhythmic phrases I will lose in time;
harmonies that will fade with age
but I’ll take memories of you to the dirt.
*** A portion of tanka #4 was published on Twitter and Tumblr.****