Friday, April 05, 2019

Blithe Spirit, Vol. 29, Number 1, February 2019

the withered garden
blooms with light

we drive deep
into the night

a waterfall
frozen in time . . .
I brush
mother's hair until
she falls asleep

types of snowflakes . . .
no one told me
that they would
all taste the same

Note: this issue also contains my selections and commentary for the Museum of Haiku Literature Award

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