They are coming, the words, the syllables. Slowly, five-seven-five. Here are a few of the latest:
How hard must I wish,
To conjure your words from air?
Eyes shut. Hands open.
Hot flashes, fever
Sweep up my ashes.
They knew no better
Trapped as they were by their times.
How will we be judged?
It occurs to me
This is just fantasy. Still.
2 thoughts on “Haiku’s Slow Return”
Pam, I just love your haiku, each a tiny story or reflection, like postcard from life.