A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2007, vol 3 no 1

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Jerry Gill


As I do every weekday afternoon, I sit in my car at the end of a street on the river. The water is rippled and dark and dotted with winter seagulls. Two coots dive...surface...dive...surface...in front of me. A formation of geese honks low overhead and disappears over the village. I read Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," doze, write a haiku or two, read, doze, watch the seagulls and coots, doze, read... Time passes. If one can't realize one's insignificance, one's essential nothingness, here, one can't realize it anywhere.

tiny snowflakes
vanishing long before
they hit the ground