why prefer?
the piñata before the strike
or just after
*
mud puddle
only the moon
doesn’t jump in
*
though tattered
I clutch at them, these shreds
of who I was
*
knitting the last row
I consider unraveling
the whole scarf
*
the sun takes me
by the hand—the mountain
can’t be tall enough
*
not the song
that made us look up but
the sound of wings
The knitting haiku says everything that needs to be said, in the whole universe.
Though the string of these run like a scarf, darker and lighter shades.