in between

a haibun in blood and flowers

at any moment, the storm will break, crashing in waves of shadowed waterfall against the stone and sand. but in that long drawn out instant when the waves hold their breath and the cliffs brace for impact, all is still.

the wind passes over
a snowdrop’s fragile blossom
in the early spring

who can touch the lightning? In an ancient room populated with gold, beetles, and canopic jars, a crystal is growing out of a pool to spread out and fill the threads between heartbeats. breathing stirs the dust of lungs. the pancreas melt into honey and wine.

when the petals fade
brown, crumple into compost
living seeds remain

nothing. the wind is gone, the beetles vanished, the dust swallowed up in a void of nothing. blood liquify into crystal shadow, shadows into rainbows without light, blending into the stillness of nothing. nothing has gathered in the storm as bees swallow pollen and process it to form me. I am nothing.

from the emptiness
of winter, flowers bloom—the
foreshadow of spring

https://www.poetrysoup.com/dictionary/haibun