haiku not much carved

by strannikov

didn't see, did you?

no? nor did I, not at all,

but I was asleep.


scars serve to remind

along the length of its arc

where the body's been.


the length of this hall

almost as much as its tiles

explains echoes here.


currency and coin

appeal to us from both sides,

“both sides” being two.


(don't let your bills wait:

delay permits them to smile,

“late” is their delight.)


when arteries still

and no friction pumps the veins,

even wallets pale.


resting by his stream

Xu tossed his staff to the bank

to watch it rest there.


pens loaded with ink

exceeding or equal to

my volume of blood.


at these grey-cast heights

I should be able to see

“up”—but for the clouds.


electric pink peak

almost tangerine at dawn

(but not among clouds).


from a granite perch

toss a glance a hundred miles

then listen for it.


these spiders' fate when

too curious to hide is

mercifully brief.


closer to the clouds

with altitude underneath,

feels the same planet.


tightened, loosened grips,

grips lost and gained, slipped then gone

in an ill-timed place.


tall mountains are good

for sequential looks amid

light and cloud and hours.


houses lost in hills

below the timberline, down

to the mercy of.


rabbits hop through grass

until the sprinklers spray them

then away they fly.