his haiku

wyeth andrew drawing bw


he shapes juniperus
brevifolia with his fingertips;
eyes closed…he tunes its canopy
pinch…pinch…thin skin needle sharp
to Zen blaze intimation

he shaves limewood…tilia
soft curls peel beneath
his pocket knife
thin…thin to matchsticks
scatter scryed by fingerfuls
on a crimson scarf
stolen…one day…in a war

he writes…fountain pen
black ink on papyrus…

grounded mourning dove;
footprints chaos the white sand
I raked…mounded smooth


Bonnie Marshall

Drawing by Andrew Wyeth

8 thoughts on “his haiku

      1. You do such a fine job in this poem of giving the reader some information without it being transparent more like translucent, I’d say). And then “chaos” suddenly becomes a verb and explodes.

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