The Enterprise Sinks I
(“passings” — Haiku Envoi)
winter yields her cloak
usurped by the youngling spring
knowingly, she waits
We walked briskly on the gravelled valley path surrounded by snow-peaked mountains without enough adjectives in my meagre dictionary. We were on the clock.
Tasman Lake watched in silence, unimpressed by our guide’s voice, our breaths and chatter, the boat’s hum and the ripples it introduced. We cruised around the ever still, yet always changing panorama.
I touched the ice our guide broke off for our pleasure. It was older than its word; I am the infant that spoke transient names to its shapes. There, a tanning chair. There, crystal popcorns. Here, the enterprise ship.
The guide said that every now and then a piece would break off from its weakest point. Each time this happens, it would tip and find its new balance, slowly drowning in its own body. Always ten percent above water, the rest hidden from plain sight. Strange how I’ve always thought of balance as fifty-fifty.
As we left and started another hike back the trail, I looked down on the glacier lake, still melting long after we’re gone.
This Haiku envoi (Haiku-Prose-Haiku) Haibun is part of the Hands in Haibun collaboration. The prose is written by Dewi. Visit the original post at:
“The Enterprise Sinks”
