A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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September 2005, vol 1 no 2

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Jim Kacian


beneath a waxing moon

I pare my nails and toss the white crescents into the fire, scenting the air faintly, unmistakeably human.

camping alone
the crackle of dry twigs
in the fire

reprinted from: Modern Haiku (33:3)


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