A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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December 2009, vol 5 no 4

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Sabine Miller



In the end, the bird had simply walked out of its skin. Or flown, or risen up through the bare apricot branches. Took all its bones. I was in trouble, having fallen in love with so many words.

winter chill––
a feather from a pile
of feathers

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