Sound – Page 13 – Iron Haiku

waves crawl up the beach-
long acres of dune grasses
ripple in the breeze
–
prints in wet sand-
nesting plovers disturbed
by barking dogs

rolling through the miles
cityscapes and farmer’s fields
pass by my window
–
morning commute-
the train’s shadow
among the trees

deep in the pine boughs
two gray squirrels chase each other
around the tree trunks
–
gray squirrel-
scolding me
from on high

early autumn storms-
dark roiling thunderclouds vent
their mottled fury
–
distant thunder-
a cloud of starlings
darken the sky

our long entrance hall-
the empty peg on the wall
where your coat once hung
–
distant smoke-
years of farmland
turned to ash

low waning daylight-
songs of bullfrogs and crickets
usher in the night
–
twilight-
crickets sing
in my footsteps

months of sundays gone-
I still just can’t get used to
sleeping without you
–
autumn winds-
the restless swirl
of fallen leaves

pale silver moonlight
captured in the broken glass
strewn across the street
–
autum eve-
crickets silenced
by shattering glass

peeling back the dark
exposing the ugly truth
to the light of day
–
low tide-
broken shells
on the sand

my bedside vigil-
each moment slipping away
taking you with them
–
machines hum-
outside your window
a starless night