I come to a state of poetry blindness but I chose to write. I write about the challenge of crafting a haibun out of a true birthday story, or a big-looking moon, or both. I struggle and start strolling down a spiral that repeats itself, but not exactly. I write about it. I strive to write about my recent birthday flying west through an extended night, and the closest moon to the Earth since 1948. I wonder if the blindness is real or if it is a consequence of the struggle that keeps curving my path. I chose to write. Super Moon. Birthday. Both. Challenge. Choice. Moon. Day.
Dark November hours — thoughts
trapped in curves without closure
until brightness fills the sky