A Haibun
like a newlywed standing by her wooden mailbox,
like a hungry spider lurking in its dewy net,
like a spring seed breathing under heavy snow,
with fixed attention I’ve been looking
at the end of the winding road
where He is supposed to emerge
winter twilight
between the pages of Job
a wooden cross
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem