Patrick M. Pilarski

Icefall

Today I walk on water—see how far this canyon goes. Winter is ending, but the riverbed is still a brush stroke of blue-white ice. I descend through pines; sap sticks to my hands as I find my balance on knotted limbs. Overhead, the sky shrinks between canyon walls. Cold stone. The wind becomes solid. Howls like a wolf. Paws toward me down the river. Rushing water. Even in winter it flows, invisible and constant beneath the ice. I follow the sound to its source: a frozen waterfall, fifty feet of soft thunder and broken pine. 

With nowhere left to go, I close my eyes and listen.

hidden sky . . .
the quiet beat
of raven wings

Published in The Unseen Wind: British Haiku Society Haibun Anthology 2009, Lynne Rees and Jo Pacsoo (Editors), British Haiku Society.