Beneath – Page 3 – Iron Haiku

unearthed by the wind-
stone sentinels laid low by
the passage of time
–
dew kissed moss-
a small stone shrine
unvisited

under a shade elm
I leave a small stone marking
the site of my grave
–
cut white lilies-
so casually
discarded

a thin scrim of frost-
muddy waters churn beneath
this fragile veneer
–
storm clouds-
reopening
old wounds

‘neath a festive sky-
cold ashes rain down upon
old lakota land
–
beneath the stars-
none of us free
unto the last

milkweed in the wind-
beside the ancient live oak
I bury our bones
–
a lonesome gong-
pale wisps of trees
fade in the mist

an old farmers sink-
her mind miles away from the
blood in the carpet
–
back garden soil-
no amount of soap
makes her feel clean

black america
locked inside the golden door
yearning to breathe free
–
hot city streets-
new seedlings break
through the concrete

vultures overhead-
circling waiting before
feasting on the dead
–
red skies-
a tempest
at our door

drowning each of us
in the blood of our comrades
within sight of shore
–
tulips blossom-
death takes no heed
upon who’s grave

soaring red-tailed hawks-

below veiled skies verdant trees

emerge from the mist

–

between the clouds

and the cut grass-

a wounded crow