Still Water
The lake holds the sky the way memory holds a name — precisely, then less so.
haikunature
March 2024Studio / Poems
Verse and observation. Short-form writing that finds meaning in small moments of the everyday.
The lake holds the sky the way memory holds a name — precisely, then less so.
At noon the shadows fold beneath their origins. I have been doing this too —
You said: everything transmits. The oak, the overpass, the cup half-full on the sill.
Three in the morning has its own cartography — rooms re-mapped by what the dark keeps quiet.
The road that ends behind the orchard has never been about arrival.
Between towers the call breaks into static — honest, finally, about distance.
The sea consults nothing. It pulls back on time, advances, leaves no record of its reasons.
I photographed you through the café glass — the rain wrote its own caption.