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Haiku Free Verse Prosies
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Long Island, Boston, MA
Winter Solstice 2003
He said it was a wind
that blew the glass of office-boxes into a mosaic
of uselessness—a wind
he must make space for.
For me, it is an ocean:
the fringe of sand against
a neverending horizon of changing waves,
a landscape you can never predict, not by the
day or the season or the hour—
don't turn your back on it.
And the dunes to your back as well,
and beyond the dunes, the green forest,
the New England forest, with its glaciated boulders,
laid there by some giant hand.
When he spoke of the wind,
he reminded me of a journey I took by boat once,
years ago, when I lived further from the ocean than I
ever should,
and the golden pears I could not pick.
I wonder whether
he is one of the pears
or the wind that shook it
from the tree.
— Frances Donovan
December 21, 2003
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