This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday.
Photo ©Wouter Hagens
Only at this moment
and this and this
can I write of past and future, each moment ticking by, another grain of sand in the glass, adding to the past and taking from the future. I sit or stand or take a step
this way or that, back again
in that infinitely narrow strait, where all futures, all pasts, slide and pass, reach out a hand, catch a grain
and another and another
and by the light of a star already dead, imprint its shape. Memory stored, I keep it polished and bright, as long as I can see its trajectory downward, behind, stroke the memory of its fiery tail as it falls. This sun, with rays so much younger than the fiery mass, flickers in the facets before they are lost, poured through the straits into the pile of the past. So many grains, falling in a brilliant cascade. How many more are left to come?
Each moment glitters,
dark or light, by sun or moon,
a glimpse of heaven.
I taste my childhood, the scent,
floral, pungent of privet.