Haibun # 1 Poem by GORDON GILHULY

a grey afternoon -
sun and cloud wrestle for
ownership of the day

The sky, of course, is not grey. It is a trick of chemicals and dust that make it seem so. The mirroring greyness of the bay, its waves gently practising at striking and hissing a little, is also a mirage. What is there, aside from the refracted slide of light on your face, on your nakedness, when I look at you?

behind me the rocks
crouching like tired grey wolfhounds
and I not knowing