At the Hall of Heroes
haibun
She goes out first to lift the man up in her arms and does
not mark the flicker on his straw-pale face. He knows each
step on the path: a twisted calculation, only one right
answer.
to walk sometimes
by the river:
to do battle
Sounding in the murk, a far off horn.
what's built up
disappears
before the peony
She swings the door silently, incandescent.
grey dust on
the grey-eyed
shield-maiden
The prose part of this haibun constitutes a
55 word story.
In retrospect, I am setting this out
as a September 11th poem, even though that had not been the original
thought.
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