Life – Page 67 – Iron Haiku

his paper thin skin
stretched across arthritic hands
so easily bruised
–
a spreading elm-
our initials
overgrown

family outings
picnics paid for with the blood
of fallen soldiers
–
small flags-
dates carved
in cold granite

clouds out ash and dust-
the soil of this arid land
affords no purchase
–
orange skies-
rivers of black glass
plunge into the sea

the wind at your face
sundress flowing out behind
tight against your breast
–
out favorite elm-
your hair spilled
across my chest

the wind on the dunes-
playful fingers turning the
pages of my book
–
wet towels-
bare feet
on my dash

april’s robin song-
the morning moon rolls over
and kisses the sun
–
cat at my feet-
your back warm
against my chest

in the line of fire
standing while the others fall
I am bulletproof
–
rising smoke-
the doe startled
bounds away

a cool ocean breeze
comes onshore and brings the taste
of salt to my lips
–
low tide-
footprints of gulls
in the wet sand

my head in your hands
your eyes locked on mine pushing
hard against my lips
–
ripe cherries-
the sweet taste
of your seduction

staring down into
another empty bottle
devoid of answers
–
august sun-
tumbleweeds across
a dry creek