The clipped wings of prayers still rise through the morning mist and falling raindrops.
It is no effort to stay, rooted in the moon’s clatter, in this oily dusk, but when all parts of me are worn out, I’ll be freed to dissolve in the lipped waves of some spacious stream, gone from the green of this earth, all of me fled to a flickering quarried star. Such is the way we drown in dreams.
The first line is a 17-syllable American Sentence followed by some prose. It’s sort of an inverted Haibun, except that this haiku lacks line breaks. I guess that makes this a little of this and that. The American Sentence is in response to One line Wednesday #1linerWeds . Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021 Image from Pexels.
It's Still Life 
4 responses to “Seventeen Syllables and Some Prose”
Those stars are tricky little beggars to quarry. I love this!
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Thanks! 😁
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I dunno; I think I’m just gonna dissolve into the soil. Stars never call me. I dig ’em, but…
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As a kid, sleeping under the stars, I saw the Milky Way. Never forgot it, Ron. It’s no ordinary thing to see.
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