Spring – Page 12 – Iron Haiku

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

through the forest glen
long ribbons of water flow
over time worn stones
–
white water-
children’s laughter
in the froth

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 towering oak-
our initials in a heart
carved into the trunk
–
sunset park-
the bench where
we first met

the bathroom door locked –
water covers the threshold
soaking the carpet
–
echos in the hallway-
your phone goes
straight to voice mail

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