Three Critiques of Tanka: From Soichi Chigusa's 'Dune Law'

To make apple jam without making anyone sad, one must be able to make delicious apple jam. If one were to turn precious apples into bad jam, the farmer might be saddened, and the person who ate it expecting a certain flavor might also be left feeling disappointed.
And the important thing is not "I must make delicious apple jam," but "I must be able to make delicious apple jam." One must know it will turn out delicious before even starting. The subject of the poem harbors a vague anxiety about not knowing the taste of the jam until it is finished. That is why they need a "theory" to causally support it, rather than just a "recipe." The subject surely knows how to make jam; what they really want to know is why that method works. One could also interpret this as wanting to know the reason why something considered correct is truly correct, rather than just knowing what is considered correct.
However, even with a perfect theory, the taste of the jam cannot be known until it is finished. This is because the "taste" of jam is a subjective concept. Perhaps one realizes this only when making jam under the best, near-perfect theory. Is the subject, who is in the middle of making the jam, included in the "anyone"? Or perhaps, the one who truly "does not want to be sad" is only the subject themselves.

How should we read "until the airport becomes a meadow"? While it is natural to take it as meaning "the airport is demolished," by focusing on the choice of the word "meadow," could we not read it as a grand flow of time that foresees the building decaying over time, returning to the earth, and a new ecosystem being born there? I want to think about the fact that what "you" are watching here is a time span far longer than a human life.
If so, was "you" already dead when you began to witness the entire process until the airport became a meadow? As a dead person who has transcended the temporal constraints of a lifespan, or perhaps as a pure perspective itself, you watch over time. The contrast between the "tower," which acts as a perspective seemingly superior to time, and the "airport," which loses its form within the flow of time, is beautiful, and the "tower" holds appropriate power as a metaphor connecting to the abstract image of perspective itself.
However, as long as the "tower" is also a structure, it may not be able to completely escape purification by the ages. Will the "you" who is already dead cease to exist even as a "tower" when the subject who can remember "you" dies?

The silver dent of the sink is likely the drain, but wouldn't it usually be tap water, not rain, that fills it? Of course, if it were an outdoor faucet, rain might fill it, but the poem depicts a scene that is mundane yet has the power to make one pause their perspective or thoughts—the idea of a different kind of water filling the sink—and the calm description of that snag functions as a trigger to draw out some special memory.
The second half of the poem, where that memory is told, reads literally as "March took 'you' away (from the subject)." It is more natural to read this not as assuming a specific cause for the loss of "you," but with the nuance that the totality of the world or the era itself usurped the individual that was "you." Whether it was war or something like a natural disaster, it is a poem that makes one feel strongly not so much anger at having "you" taken away, but a sense of helplessness at being unable to keep "you" by one's side when faced with something overwhelmingly large, or perhaps the smallness of the individual against that totality. As a description, I feel a certain technique in how this resignation is casually entrusted to the natural phenomenon of rain (something humans cannot resist).
Although it is a poem closed within the subject's experience, it is precisely for that reason that it succeeds in pushing forward the uniqueness (irreversibility) of that painful experience. I think that is the strength of a closed tanka.