I
You are annoyed
our drawers are full of rocks,
our books of pressed flowers;
but I know what you really think,
and besides, I will never stop.
II
Waiting by yellow woods
I held the weak sun on my palms:
warm and light,
like your socks you threw me
going to swim.
III
We reconciled
by a clear meadow stream, though
after embracing
you caught your balance
pulling on my ear.
Robert Hunter is the editor for Detroit Lit Mag.
As the river’s roiling darkles streams of light across it,
The damp brown leaves blow over trunks of birch;
As wet snowflakes seethe in streetlamps’ yellow light,
So, flurries of old syllables consume a silent watcher.
Jeffery Grey is an undergraduate student at Northern Michigan University. He was formerly attending the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, but has now turned instead to secular literature, and the frigid north, to breathe some fresh air.
This haiku by Robert Hunter describes the enormous silence of the late fall.
Detroit Lit Mag 