Monday, 22 July 2013

Dent-de-lion



the air is full of clocks' hair
dandelion everywhere
seas of white floating foam
in the fleecy breeze roam
passing through this white fog
gruelling weird glorious slog
time slowed down to a halt
I tread the eerie field
firn under a white vault
concealed in the revealed

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Haiku #4

  Her gaze, her pace, honest, set As her soul, trudging the komorebi path Ablaze and cold as the day