Age – Page 42 – Iron Haiku

walking on eggshells
at the door I stop and turn-
you’re watching me leave
–
predawn-
hard and cold
the bedroom floor

the wind plays a cat
unravelling skeins of snow
as I walk along
–
the wee hours-
between my legs
a sleeping cat

the bedroom door wide
work clothes strewn across the floor
you and I asleep
–
endless meetings-
your fingers brush mine
by the sandwich tray

encroaching shadows
race to fill the void left by
the crumbling day
–
sleeping dogs-
the shade of
a dying elm

the river of time
flows past this open window
and into my past
–
distant clouds-
a riverbed
of broken earth

driving home alone
all the while the taste of you
lingers on my tongue
–
an awkward kiss-
moths flutter
near the porch light

curling photographs-
remnants of an age gone by
taped to my mirror
–
sepia trees-
winter morning’s
gentle light

your head on my chest-
falling asleep together
in the afterglow
–
a warm breeze-
tangled together
in the tall grass

cracks in the pavement
mirrored by the crows feet in
a homeless man’s face
–
ruins-
ivy climbs
crumbling walls

from a different life
the passing of an old friend
rests on my shoulders
–
moonrise-
a silver wind
sways the curtains