EMPTY SHELLS

a cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away
—Basho

EMPTY SHELLS

counting syllables the haiku
disappears from the branch

blossoms that called out in the night
now fallen under the bed forgotten

the tree in leaf moves on without moving
unless the wind says otherwise

short or long the breath of the wind
has no regard for chopping up its words

we hear wind we don't even know
this language we've been hearing all our lives

the insects leave their shells behind
as do the molluscs on the shore

leaving their shells how convenient
all these found instruments for a breeze

watch out a gale will scatter these remains
like so much debris inside such a sound
that overwhelms like a flood like a drowning

like a barking dog in the night
we speak out against the darkness of the wind
that hasn't yet arrived