A run of haiku poems by T.S. Ming

A Spill



A guy you know sees
you drowning so he hands you
a tightly wrapped stone


As he’s handing the
rock, he tells you he went down
twen(t)y feet to fetch it


The salty sealed rock
is a spell to hold you down;
“thanks,” you answer.


You smile at yourself,
caress the hermetic seal: “what
am I? a prophet?!”


Roads lead to roads;
deep inside you believe each
has been well trodden.



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