At the Hall of Heroes
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
before the peony
She swings the door silently, incandescent.
grey dust on
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.