sometimes,
my brain finds solace
on a sweet picnic table -
set up for a short tea,
on tatami mats,
in a garden with half a blanket
of pink-white blossoms
sleeping on the earth.
on such days,
my words settle into
seventeen sweet spots -
no fuss, no muss -
like schoolchildren after a field trip,
too tired and hopefully
too content
to rebel.
sometimes,
my words come to rest
as if my heart and my hands
are all weary travellers,
and i sent them to retrieve riches
that are way beyond
belonging to seventeen neat corners.
and so i apologize,
i call it laziness,
offer some food for thought,
and a warm place to rest
between the
three
simple
lines
of a haiku.