Family – Page 23 – Iron Haiku

living with strangers-
years torn from my memory
replayed day by day
–
dimming light-
a quiet place
to lay my head

so much left unsaid
I’m not sure that I can take
your icy silence
–
pools of sunshine-
the soft dripping
of melting ice

a pair of otters
dozing in the sun floating
far out in the bay
–
bleached driftwood-
iridescent sand
on the ebb tide

through all this darkness
the seed of light we planted
finally takes root
–
snow crocus blooms-
the heady smell of
freshly turned earth

looking at myself
amid the twisted wreckage
of my ruined car
–
mourning doves-
lost in the white
of the winter sky

long ago I was
your knight in shining armor
now I’m just tarnished
–
rusted hinges-
an old mare
out to pasture

sitting on the dock
losing patience waiting for
my ship to come in
–
a cold hard rain-
the dog brings
her leash

falling off my bike
I become one with the earth
for just a moment
–
june twilight-
our vows float away
on paper lanterns

swallowing my doubts
returning day after day
in case you wake up
–
patchwork sunlight-
I brush the sleep
from your lips

guttering gas lamps
weakly lighting the platform
where she waits, in vain
–
the scent of jasmine-
a silent stream
turns to ice