A Gnat in Amber
Written August 1990 to October 1991 by postal exchange (even though Paul was my nearest haiku neighbour at the time—we lived in Belmont and Foster City, California). Corrections finished May 1992. First published in Brussels Sprout X:1, January 1993, pages 18–19. This may have been the first renku I ever wrote.
A kasen renku by Paul O. Williams and Michael Dylan Welch
the gnat in amber
gleaming in July sun
on her throat Paul
knocked from its tin
a fresh loaf, steaming Michael
wings tucked,
falling toward the grain barge,
two pigeons land Paul
a cough from the doorway—
the bag lady’s shadowed face Michael
this clouded moon
my son may soon see clear
in Arabia Paul
a letter home, unsealed . . .
rain streaks the window Michael
~ ~ ~
sudden gust
across the tide pool
the smell of the sea Michael
the fragrant watermelon
cut open—I check my hands Paul
a crab apple
from the highest branch
rattles down the rain spout Michael
a red rag in his pocket,
his dog’s tongue hanging far out Paul
supper time . . .
the runaway
comes home Michael
once again garlic
follows him down the walk Paul
autumn morning—
old neighbours
trimming the hedge Michael
a cold early morning run,
the moon fades sooner than I Paul
beige beach stones
fringed with frost—
a wave recedes Michael
distant rumors of war
in the yard sparrows quarrel Paul
nodding faintly
in the spire’s shadow—
blue columbine buds Michael
this pitcher and this sunset
agree about cranberry Paul
~ ~ ~
his last beer bottle
hidden these three years
in the junipers Paul
grey winter day—
a scrap of paper blows against traffic Michael
fumbling
for the house key
as the phone rings Paul
hands outstretched—
the baby toddles toward the flames Michael
by the river
the reunion picnic
the river slips by Paul
a jar of hominy grits
stands in sunlight Michael
all these years clouds
riding the surface
of Moosehead Lake Paul
spilling from the potpourri,
only lavender Michael
tiny cleome seeds
cupped in my palm
whisper white flowers Paul
blurred by the sink’s soapy water,
a white dish Michael
birds blunder out
o the dark spruce tree—
the new moon Paul
in the mushroom’s shade,
a litter of shrews Michael
~ ~ ~
rainy circus tent—
the child gives a red balloon
to the sad-eyed clown Michael
cattail pollen scattered
on the lake—some sinking Paul
an afternoon
in mid-October . . .
the unmade bed Michael
the late paper slaps and skids
down the sun-warm drive Paul
waking me,
she brushes my cheek
with fringed gentian Michael
this morning of fog and frost
a woods full of rime-edged leaves Paul