haiku sixty seven

owl calls

seeing what i cannot –

last snow falls

~

gathering

Monday –

 on the platform again

 the day he goes to London

 breathing shallow

 

waving i turn away

 the train gathers speed

 stiff happiness sliding off my skin

 i wait to get lost in the darkness

 

looking skywards for strength

 I make myself a bell tower

 in this sharp bright light

 he shall be the bell.

 

Just a bunch –

 a band of pigeons in the station tree

 preening

 nearly flirting

 waiting

 for another to make the first move

 my husband calls them rat birds

 for taking the niger seeds i leave for the songbirds

 i suppose it isn’t really stealing.

 

From behind the sun

 a rush of air

 the hawk sharp

 a weapon grown fleet with need

 a jet strike deep into the branches

 i never heard pigeons shriek like this

 feathers fly and the hawk twists away

 inverts

  stalls

  a snap roll

 and is gone.

 

The pigeons ruffle

 quick to forget

 settling back

 quick to remember nothing has changed

 

except the little hawk is still hungry

 and my breath has grown slow

 and made more space around me

 ~

haiku 66

thick clouds move in –

my child begins to snore

but the kitten

wants to play

~

haiku sixty five

the ducklings shriek as the train pulls in

i look away –

their mother cannot hear the silence

~

haiku sixty four

hands trembling

sweat between her breasts

the sick cellist plays Bach

~

haiku sixty three

thunder clouds tumble by –

the early rose turns its face

nesting sparrows shiver

~

haiku ten

this afternoon’s rain

shares it’s indigo chill

with dawn’s winter light

~

haiku nine

this morning’s grey

shares the slow exhale of my melancholy

i inhale this wild beauty

~

haiku eight

that liminal edge

where my skin gets too thin

and i lose my edges

~

haiku seven

mist stayed all day

so has my melancholy mood

invisible sunset

~