I too, stole fire.
I, too, waited daily
for the eagle.
*
Just one piece of sun.
That’s all I wanted. After all
everything is broken.
*
It did not look
like a gift, the devouring
from the inside out.
*
Only clay after all.
But we’re more than that.
Ask my liver.
*
It never once
looked over its shoulder.
Brown wings blocked the sun.
*
I’d almost say
I came to like it. Could you
understand?
*
Isn’t it funny
I can’t remember now
the color of the eyes.
*
Tonight so full
the moon. It can be so lovely,
emptiness.
Eight haiku. Whatta blessing. Danke.
From this side of the page(s), it looks like the crafting of these musta been fun. Wonder, though, whether sweat and pulled hair were just some of what got you to here.
“Just” haiku, yet there are layers of layers. Perhaps like the ripples the leaping frog leaves throughout the pond. Multiple readings reward with multiple perspectives and interpretations. Makes me shake my head due to the distances between your abilities and mine; yet makes me more eager to pen my own pages, now that I’ve seen what else is conceivable. And thank you for that.
Now, about that moon. Riding to work this morning, five o’clock, it wasn’t until I turned onto an opened street, no trees, that the fulling moon whallopped into view. Some startling surprises are good ones.
Thank you, Eduardo … It was fun to write, to reimagine the prometheus story, which I have never before felt much affinity for and then last night could not help but think how familiar it all felt …
Nice moon experience!
R
I like how the moon and the eyes are so close in the poem, their roundness leaps across. And I like that you focused on the eagle here, an updated mythology of sorts, that equates the contemporary speaker’s troubles to those of Prometheus. “The devouring” — so nice, from the inside.