July 2018 – Iron Haiku

her worn threadbare coat-
piles of bread crumbs spread between
the bird lady’s feet
–
a park bench-
sparrows land
on my shoulder

tiny ballet shoes-
waiting for the curtain in
crinoline and lace
–
sunday afternoon-
long hours
at the barre

the village emptied
bodies lay unburied with
no one left to mourn
–
tumbleweeds-
sun scoured bones
picked clean

moonlight in the trees-
silently a cold wind shifts
shadows on the snow
–
long shadows-
the warm wind
walks me home

ghosts of the future
block my way and haunt me with
all I could have been
–
heavy rain-
our great oak
uprooted

building my fortress
I bury my emotions
beneath the first stone
–
cacophony-
late night frogs
in my stone walls

white flecks of sea foam
spraying off the ocean waves
and the rising tide
–
onshore winds-
smell of salt
and the sea

white on shades of blue-
the day ends as sailors tire
of chasing the wind
–
moonlight-
sailboats crease
the black water

alabaster skin
flush with the pain of pleasure
however fleeting
–
lilacs in bloom-
bees harbored
in the blossoms

a kiss of sunlight
caught in the underside of
a cardinal’s wing
–
young rabbits-
wild strawberries
hidden in the grass