Who Knows What's Going On

Who knows what is going on on the other side of each hour?

How many times the sunrise was
there, behind a mountain!

How many times the brilliant cloud piling up far off
was already a golden body full of thunder!

This rose was poison.

That sword gave life.

I was thinking of a flowery meadow
at the end of a road,
and found myself in the slough.

I was thinking of the greatness of what was human,
and found myself in the divine.

by Juan Ramon Jimenez, Poet (1881-1958)



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walking
myself
home

by Marie Bortolotto (minimalist haiku)

Art by Marie Bortolotto