What the Morning Brings
. . . the morning is pure with tree-wind and one mourning dove’s song filling those empty, long abandoned spaces within, while this old boat, tethered too long, awash in a golden light from a just risen sun,
is untied, set adrift in whatever the morning brings . . .
floating lily pads . . .
the oars of the boat
First published in Modern Haibun and Tanka Prose, June, 2009.