Seasons – Page 56 – Iron Haiku

driving past the farm
hummocks of mulch lie steaming
in the morning sun
–
leafless trees-
mist rises above
the duck pond

long after midnight-
my eyes lose their focus as
I write in my sleep
–
well past curfew-
tires on the
gravel drive

freshly cut flowers
in what used to be your urn
on my mantle piece
–
empty boxes-
the dog sleeps
on your side

with the rising sun
the smell of coffee clears the
cobwebs from my mind
–
smoldering campfire-
I blow on the
overnight coals

winter in the air-
unmown fields of autumn grass
yellowed by the sun
–
looking up-
snowflakes on
your lashes

leaving my baggage
there’s far too much to carry
along this journey
–
the river left behind-
ewer water
darkens the road

my eyelids heavy
weighed down by lies from the past
that I can’t escape
–
dark skies-
mountain rains
flood the valley

freshly cropped farmland
the western sky glows amber
over the harvest
–
the setting sun-
threshed chaff
in the wind

your slow gentle breath
in the forest silver wolves
hold court with the moon
–
icy water-
the sound of blood
rushing in my ears

a dusting of snow
years of footfalls revealed in
the worn granite steps
–
an old slate roof-
heavy snow piles
up on the eaves