(haiku sequence)


When the anvil’s clang

expires, water quenches the

beaten shape of silence.


No silence is empty;

it coils the expectant spring

of potential.

Soundless is the spark

of the tongue that precedes

the chill of the fang.


A wise mother knows

when her child is too quiet

and into mischief.

Her nimbus brooding

warns her hapless husband

of a coming storm.

If words bear the weight

of armour, the actor’s pause

is the sword’s thrust.

A wakeful soldier

hears the quiet, awaits the screams

from beyond the Styx