A Haibun for Billy Collins
half a haiku
the morning
already ancient
I wake from my nap screaming. In the dream, my half-naked poem is nailed to the cross, surrounded by a cheering crowd. A critic begins beating it with a hose, trying to torture a confession of its meaning from it. My poem cries out in anguish.
midnight moon
the only thing moving
my right hand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem