Sound – Page 23 – Iron Haiku

the first day we met
your perfect little fingers
wrapped around my thumb
–
laundromat-
your clothes tumble
next to mine

horizontal rain-
fractured palms and broken dreams
tumble down the street
–
dark greasy smoke-
The sky lit
by falling embers

gauzy white and gray
shifting in the breeze on a
cerulean sea
–
morning sun-
dust rises from
the desert floor

softly melting snow-
the trumpets of returning
canadian geese
–
the ides of march-
a robin graces
my dogwood tree

rust stained porcelain-
hard metallic drips echo
off the bathroom sink
–
far from sleep-
the dripping faucet
maddening

snow on the gravestones-
the caretaker’s lantern swings
haloed in the fog
–
moonlit snow-
fog sprawls
across the road

an empty barstool-
I decide to take a risk
on conversation
–
empty glasses-
my napkin
torn to shreds

a golden buddha
in quiet contemplation
half buried in snow
–
gentle snow-
singing bowls
fall silent

crimson fingernails
lightly drawn along my skin
leaving ghostly trails
–
rain streaked windows-
we agree
on safe words

an early March snow-
past time for pulling up roots
and moving along
–
stinging rain-
I return to find
an empty home