and yet another poetry game

I read somewhere that the medieval Japanese, or were they only the samurais that did it, in their elegant and elaborate ways, engaged in a very nice and subtle poetry game.

While they'd feast in the garden, they would write a line on a parchment leaf ; they would then put it on the little creek running thru that garden and let it flow down the stream; the next guest would pick it up and add his line to the former one and so on, and a poem would be born.

Let's do it here, if you're game for this game.

So here's the parchment, sailing silently, baptised by water, upholding it for you to add to my line, which is the first in the oncoming opus, the poem to be born:

A light wind is sailing (from one of my poems, not yet published here)

Dan

A light wind is sailing
On the current of night,
An old owl is hooing,
then took its last flight
Dives to grab roadkill
precise to its prey
then soars into the sky
to wait the dawn of day.
Dewdrops on grassblades, the owl is asleep

A light wind is sailing
On the current of night,
An old owl is hooing,
then takes its last flight
Dives to grab roadkill
precise to its prey
then soars into the sky
to wait the dawn of day.
Dewdrops on grassblades, the owl is asleep
dreaming of the perfect kill
boy creeping, gun in hand
his heart quiet, his breath still
A light rain is falling
The boy hears no cries
only his own as talons pierce deeply
And that poor little boy collapses and dies
With a gasp in his eyes