Crushed Silk

All day the susurration of words. Not enough time to pay them heed. Nothing to do but wait for the soft slip of sleep when I can dance cheek to cheek with that other self; she who knows the steps so much better than me.

1001… 1002… Falling. Falling. This ache between my shoulders and a weight that becomes an itch that I can’t scratch. Pop! Suddenly, a lightness of being.

high above the poppy field…
breath of a dream

Sun-capped waves of corn. I’m pulled into the swell, carried away. Clouds become dandelion seeds, drifting. The cord in my left hand dissolves. My right hand clutches at a thread. I look up to see a parasol of mist. Who blows the dandelion clock? Me, or the breeze?…

pen to paper…
the colours of
a butterfly’s dream

A Hundred Gourds 1:2 March 2012


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Margaret Dornaus
    Mar 20, 2012 @ 23:36:17

    Beautiful, Claire . . . I also love the other haibun of yours that I read recently (can’t remember where?) about the grandmother with her box of chocolate violets . . . so charming. Please post that one soon! Best, M.


    • Claire
      Mar 26, 2012 @ 08:06:59

      Thank you, Margaret, you’re always so kind. Yes, “Guilty Pleasures” just appeared in Notes from the Gean and I will be posting it here soon. That began with a haiku posted for NaHaiWriMo last autumn. Alan Summers found it intriguing and, in explaining its origins, I said I should probably turn it into a haibun 😉
      Hope you are well, my friend. Happy spring!


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