Seasons – Page 41 – Iron Haiku

a wine glass empty
save for the mark your lips made
when kissing the rim
–
thick woolen socks-
a spark jumps
between our lips

a sudden cloudburst-
the rain soaking my shoes as
I run for cover
–
hazy sunshine-
sidewalks steaming
from the passing rain

wind rustles the leaves
and coaxes a dryad’s song
of spring from the trees
–
whispers-
forest giants
shake off the cold

wolves of stone and snow
insubstantial in the light
of the forest moon
–
rising embers-
mournful howling
in the distance

a soul deeply flawed
ichorous and fetid cast
from a broken mold
–
bathing rituals-
filing ewers by
the riverbanks

my outstretched fingers-
a solitary oak leaf
floating on the breeze
–
spring afternoon-
dozens of oak seeds
spin in the wind

northern white cedars-
the cliff face of ragged stone
falling to the sea
–
out of the fog-
a grand tower
of sun bleached stone

the low western sun-
surrounding the rising moon
a golden halo
–
thunder rolls-
dark clouds pass
before the moon

off the mountain road
a wake of buzzards gather
‘round a fallen deer
–
moonrise-
the fawn waits
in the tall grass

puppets to a one-
dancing to unheard music
hung from tangled threads
–
skeletal fingers-
pulling taut
the threads of fate