A bowl of stars turned
Over my head, dripping its
Milk into the moon.
I’ve liked Haiku for a long time. Maybe not as enthusiastically as my friend, Jan Morrill, but I dabble. I like the way it captures not just an emotion or moment in time, as poems generally do, but the nanosecond of a breath. Those fragments on the edge of your consciousness that occasionally come into sharp focus and give you an awareness of something greater in the universe that you literally cannot handle for more than the fraction you’ve been given.
Writing haiku lets you capture that half-breath and analyze it, turn it over in your hands and examine its beauty, its deeper meaning.
It’s highly personal, unique to the writer, and is as close to a lover’s whisper as we can get.