Winter sunlight is streaming through the attic window onto my Walmart build-it-yourself desk.
As a Chinese coolie working with thought and emotions in the enclave of a foreign language, I don’t feel any pleasure from writing most of the time, except in fleeting moments when I extract gold dust from the sand in a river that winds through the land of memories.
the shape of the day
after one haiku
frozen walkways
Haibun Today, 7:2, June 2013
