A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2006, vol 2 no 1

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Hortensia Anderson

En Passant

All night it has rained and today, the sky takes on a delicate blueness. There is a freshness in the just-washed breeze. You wait for me by the gate to your loft—my pink ballet slippers soundless against the cobblestones. We embrace and I close my eyes, pressing my lips against your neck, the clean, distinct scent of you—cucumber and wheat. You open the gate to the scent of white lilacs in full bloom—lush, dripping petals reminding me of snow and clouds.

brushing my hair—
our shadows touch
in passing

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