empty boats
bump gunwales
in still air.
Bumping Gunwales [Haiku]
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Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways, and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains -- alas, too few!
Fluent Forever: How to Learn Any Language Fast and Never Forget It by Gabriel WynerAdrift on West Lake in a wine-laden, colorful skiff:
As flutes play fast and lutes, deftly
And a jade cup circuits swiftly,
The boat's calm rocking lulls the drunk into sleep.
Thin clouds seem to float right under the rudderless boat.
The water's blue matches the sky's,
As lake to sky and back move eyes,
"Do the clouds above match those that in the water float?"

trees judder
with spring breezes;
shadows pulse below.



