#25

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/john-berryman/3558

This poem tells about a lie, then curls up in a ball, assumes the fetal position, and begins the shrinking away: When the tide rises, the island is isolate. I had a professor once who told the class that once a semester it’s okay to stay in bed until 4:00 in the afternoon.

Five Haiku in Retreat

Violets spring violet

Dark in shade, happiest when
Sun leaves them alone.

         Bluegills rise to a

         Struggling fly, sink away from
         Memories of hooks.

   Mole turns from light through

   A hole in his hole, embraces
   The comforting dirt.

Scarlet of maples
Exhausts the forest, burden

Of color fallen.

          Breathing of a frog

          Unnecessary beneath
          The pond’s hard blanket.

KZ