There is a sadness to the imagery of this dream, and a solitude. A lake separates us. I can see him on the far shore. He is silent in that way of things unsaid, but also the silence of the space between the living and dead, the vastness.

the urn holds
all of him

This lake, this distance, this silence. These metaphors.

all things fall

I have suffered other grief and there it is. Right out in the open. But this is different. I don't know what to do with it. What pocket to slip it in, how to carry it around with me.

a fossil, a penny
a feather


Published in Contemporary Haibun Online, a quarterly journal of contemporary Engish language haibun

© Marianne Paul 2011