Dead horse haiku


the falling snow of
or in an endless room of

°  °

after the drought,
he joked, burial
by frozen water

°  °

the compiling snow,
the treble ping of sleet:
Moses & Aaron

°  °

the white page covers
what? to write is to distance
& too close, the lips


  1. Pretty neat action here!

    I had a big bug out a while ago trying to describe my flashlight in a spider’s eye, lighting up the tapetum ludica, I think. I thought it like looking into a gap in a tent from out in the night at a fragment of a brilliantly patterned wool rug lit by a fire, so much so that when I read tapestry here I think “eye”. And of course I like very the idea of the eye as an endless room of tapestry — sort of a Christo? Lol.

  2. Thank you so much, everyone!

    Bill, you reminded me that the endless rooms of tapestry is a very old theme for me based on a very vivid, recurring childhood dream of walking through a series of beautiful rooms made of nothing but lush curtains, with each room of a different color. The idea of the eye as the endless room has really got me thinking.

    Patterns and texture to me are somehow what helps to hold may of my favorite photos of yours together, taking over the job most of us leave merely to composition. Your eye (to use the word in (perhaps) another sense) is really unique, refreshing, and somehow helpful.

  3. More reflection on Bill’s idea of “the eye as an endless room of tapestry.” I’ve always had loads of floaters in my eyes. Moving my eyes is like twisting kaleidoscopes manufactured with their shards encased in (thankfully light) corn syrup.

  4. Or moving my eyes is like shaking a pair of snow globes. Maybe that’s the Christo: like the Magi, I was made to look for the creche.

Comments are closed.