A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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June 2008, vol 4 no 2

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Hortensia Anderson



A breeze blows through a flowering branch, carrying the sweetest perfume. I breathe deeply, unable to stop, unable to get enough. As one blossom drops by
my hand and onto the paper, I wonder how it knows to let go.

painting plum trees —
the brush runs out of ink
at the petals

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