illness sharpens --
in arctic summer every stone
is shawled with fire
The cats woke me a bit after 3:00 a.m., and the house began shaking about a minute later. I waited for it to end, but it kept on, so after awhile I got up and climbed the stairs (without thought, without effort, without pain) the cats swirling around me. Out the living room window, the channel and the mountains were glowing. I don’t remember the moon, but it must have been there – the water rippling and gleaming with its light. I stood, caught by that gold water, until the world stilled again.
dust on the stairs
. . . one poet’s haiku used as a starting point, a second poet supplying a prose passage and closing haiku, then sending the whole thing back. The first poet would then write a prose passage based on the closing haiku, though taking the piece in a new direction (as in renku.) A closing haiku would again be supplied and the process would repeat. It would end at a point mutually agreed upon.
This is my first effort at haibun; I am not confident of it – but Erin has agreed to play with me!
Weblogs should be an ideal medium for this; if we can make the trackbacks work (which Erin and I have had trouble with in the past) readers should be able to follow the links and trackbacks from the first post all the way through. Just in case, though:
The first post is here.
This is the second post.