A Haibun for John Berryman
solstice...
counting snowflakes
on the window
There are two voices fighting for the control of my mind. One says, "Just keep writing, " and I ask, "writing for whom? " The other whispers in the dark, "for the dead whom you did love."
first light...
my copy of The Middle Way
dog-eared
I start to spin the poems of darkness out of falling snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem