Light – Page 20 – Iron Haiku

in an old wheelchair
a young girl waits deep inside
the shell of herself
–
first light-
a sliver of dawn
beneath the door

an empty basket-
warm sunlight on this week’s wash
snapping on the line
–
old bones-
family secrets
in the closet

barely keeping still-
my fingers brushing across
your wet ruby lips
–
waves lap the shore-
your hair drying in
the tropical sun

midsummer morning-
a pair of cardinals perch
in the zebra grass
–
fields of mist-
a robin’s nest
full of shadows

broken shower tiles
a bare bulb hangs from a chain
in my one room flat
–
after last call-
neon signs
light my way home

under the night sky
conversation and laughter
as the fire dies down
–
starlight-
good friends and
wine loosened tongues

crimson rose petals
clinging to a withered stem
slowly turning brown
–
tea rose petals –
the crystal bowl
overflowing

an overgrown lawn-
ravens nest in the eaves of
what was once a home
–
rotting lumber-
vines climb
though the floor

my blood in the sink-
I should be panicking but
I can’t feel the pain
–
tendrils of fog-
undisturbed by the hooves
of a pale horse

among the rushes
herons stand in the salt marsh
waiting for the tide
–
auburn sunrise-
dawn breezes stir
fields of cattails