Mezza Luna

I find potential to be a scary word. It comes shackled with doubt on my capability to assess. What if my estimate is incorrect, especially when there’s no historical data to be extrapolated?

Mezza Luna laughs soundlessly. She carries a history behind her, but holds out no promise for the future. She doesn’t like being burdened with expectations. Every shape is complete in itself, not necessarily round.

Clouds become vagabonds, not knowing which way she will go.

dig into darkness
you know not what completes life
ether, borrowed light?

wandering through nights
find hidden sources of light
some within yourself

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Haibun Monday

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