HAIBUN

There is a place Now where a smooth white log sits beside a stream to sit on.  In the Now my future rests there and I try to look ahead.  Water and light play on the key stones in the stream striking a marimba.  The clarity of the water draws my hand down in it and the little creatures of the creek spin about it, pouting their little mouths up against my fingers to clean me, preparing the body and nourishing themselves, then they dart to and fro along their little highway in the stream and disappear in the rocks and sand again so that I realize I have never really seen them.

minnows or tadpoles
old eyes not seeing
what is their future