Marjorie Buettner

What the Morning Brings

. . . the morning is pure with tree-wind and one mourning dove’s song filling those empty, long abandoned spaces within, while this old boat, tethered too long, awash in a golden light from a just risen sun, is untied, set adrift in whatever the morning brings . . .

floating lily pads . . .
the oars of the boat
set aside

Note: First published in Modern Haibun and Tanka Prose, June, 2009.