April 2020 – Iron Haiku

the porch light goes dark-
the taste of cherry chapstick
lingers on my lips
–
lost in your garden-
crimson tulips
brush my cheek

as I leave this world
I pour my soul into you-
one last parting gift
–
out of the fire-
a perfect vessel
cracked

your hand grasps my thumb-
our breathing becomes one as
sleep takes you away
–
post bottle-
a twitch wakes you
for just a moment

crimson in the sun-
the first cardinal of spring
on my garden gate
–
april morning-
daffodils
in the rain

an ocean of sleep-
the receding tide leaves a
tangled mat of dreams
–
dandelion seeds-
bare whispers
of my mind

on the edge of sleep-
hours before my alarm rings
each noise a crisis
–
suddenly awake-
a murderer
or my cat?

the blankets askew-
as you start to fall asleep
we share the same breath
–
dream talking-
I lie beside you
and listen

april darkling skies-
picking up dry kindling for
the seasons last fire
–
well worn stories-
glowing embers
float skyward

honeysuckle winds
blowing through the fresh linens
hanging on the line
–
an evening walk-
the perfume of
my neighbor’s grill

a cricket’s chorus-
mercury and venus lost
amid the fireflies
–
emergent dusk-
spatters of light
in the new grass