One Haiku, Two Haiku-not

Knife cuts spud in half

soil on the broken wood board~

steel from deep within.

Street woman peeled her nose

a blanket on her legs~

late winter caressed her face.

Ballerina Tangled in a Thornbush

Before me dance

all beautiful ballerinas

in celebration of a quiet secret

An Illumination shun

from insight

caught in the veil

of my refusal

Blinding glimpses

grace unburdened

by the thorns;

Love, a dance 

of unstoppable motion

Rattling the stage 

with intermittent walk

between its lights

and its shadows

As the Masterworks

in unseen distance 

music surging from all

alluring children 

where hope awaits

divine chance

of freedom

This isn't anywhere at all. The mere existence of these words is impossible, they are only here because you and I are willing to let them be here. And here is nowhere. Once a button is pressed there isn't a chance to locate its meaning, to pinpoint the precedence and destinations it will encounter. One is many. Read or not, this is just a passing stage, and its reality is as questionable as its meaning.