Time – Page 15 – Iron Haiku

sunday morning snow-
the coals put to bed last night
gently coaxed to light
–
aimless snowflakes-
sunlight flashes
and disappears

saturday morning-
I fall back to sleep, your kiss
drying on my lips
–
the bedroom door-
your pillow
still warm

curled up on cardboard-
nameless faceless commuters
pass without a glance
–
fingerless gloves-
dreaming of a home
not a doorway

reaching for the sun-
all those years spent climbing up
just to fall back down
–
scorched earth-
blackened stumps
to the horizon

cross legged in the grass-
the morning sun dawns over
a new cairn of stone
–
balancing rocks-
my mind clear
for now

a great bald eagle-
I’m forced to watch her greatness
fly on broken wings
–
a woodland pond-
the still water
brackish

another black cloud-
rain runs down my iron skin
leaving trails of rust
–
acid rain-
too much life
etched in my face

long distance sunrise-
my rig nestled in the grooves
in the center lane
–
marshmallow clouds-
the rising sun
a campfire

deceptive shadows-
I make my way back to bed
the hall light left on
–
moonlight on the floor-
I check again
under her bed

winter at the shore-
sun bleached clam and oyster shells
blend into the snow
–
approaching storm-
sea foam white
in the wind