It was a day for waiting. Picture an astronaut, suddenly left behind by the mothership, floating in darkness, hungry and thirsty, stranded in space. It was a day for mourning, before he knew what would come. Picture a snail, carrying such weight,
trying to get to another snail, standing silent many meters from him. It was a day for sending undecipherable messages in old rum bottles, the unchartered territories of the sea the site of darkness within him, the chest a treasure, a map,
A hay(na)ku chapbook.