Light – Page 27 – Iron Haiku

early morning dew-
clusters of tulips push through
last year’s matted leaves
–
an iron gate-
roses twined around
our postbox

late afternoon breeze-
a cardinal feeds his mate
seeds from my garden
–
morning sunlight-
dogwood brides
dressed in white

the first spring sunrise-
a thin mist of winter clings
to the melting snow
–
daybreak-
a silver moon
over hoarfrost grass

rid of you at last
cut from where you’d gotten lodged
just under my skin
–
last year’s maple leaves-
splinters from a
prior life

fields of lavender-
if tomorrow never comes
at least we’ll have this
–
apricot sunrise-
hints of vanilla
on the breeze

the end of the rain-
I pull back layers of clouds
to reveal the stars
–
petrichor-
storm clouds
in a puddle

a mackerel sky-
skeins of canadian geese
flying overhead
–
routine commute-
cardinals cross
my path

a warm rain ended-
softened sunlight drizzles down
to the forest floor
–
dawn breaks-
sunlight arrives
unannounced

encroaching darkness-
a blue moon wanders across
the path of the sun
–
approaching night-
a bat flies across
the moon

dark basement staircase-
the heady scent of baked bread
wafts down from above
–
golden light-
brown buttered toast
and black coffee