I hear it with your first the. 
From far across the sea 
your simple syllable darkens. 

I hear it with your initial a. 
Not the a of age, but wild 
and foreign, a bleak duck’s 
phoneme the shape of its call. 

Prejudice, I think dimly, 
I have never been so white. 

—This poem is a golden shovel based on a haiku by Bashō.

Bio: Scott Wiggerman