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SOMEONE LOST

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Dry twigs of placid days are feeding fire,

illuminating stretch of long-deserted shore,

as leaves are dancing night away with shadows,

paced by the tunes of high and low tide.

The wreath of nameless herbs is twined to crown

the halo of the ever-changing moon

that lights the line of lonely tanka verses

where sea can't reach the rumpled page of sand.

Beneath the tangled labyrinth of branches,

the path is writhing in the claws of roots

to home where the worn armchair is waiting

to rock the pain of someone lost all night.

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all rights reserved © Natalia L. Rudychev

First published in SP Quill, Fall 2006, Volume 12, 33.

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