March 31st 2017

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shadows
····in the shadows of trees—the moon moves quietly
········through
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90 March 31st 2017 | bottlecap
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March 24th 2017

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late
····March snows—the highway’s headlights
········blurring
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Twice  this year I’ve driven from Vermont to Maine in New England’s worst weather. I left today, Friday, at noon, in a blizzard, and didn’t get home until half past midnight Saturday morning. I saw cars off the road and one overturned—completely belly-up. Coming back, midway through New Hampshire, rain, sleet and snow iced the roads—an exiting pickup truck took down an overhead highway sign. In all that time, not a spare moment to put down a poem, not so little as a haiku, so I write it now before going to bed.
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83 March 24th 2017 | bottlecap
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March 23rd 2017

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swirling
····in the girl’s gaze—snow on the closing days
········of March
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I’ve read that sometimes the Japanese poets wrote haiku such that the sounds of the language echoed their subject. That’s rarely possible to translate, but maybe there’s a little of that in the haiku above.
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82 March 23rd 2017 | bottlecap
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