Haiku #106

106.

There are two men of me,
One on his way to push me off
The cliff, and one forever waiting.

Untitled Poem #1

As the timber plane
Appeals to its nails
To become something useful,

As the rice seeks the water
Which it absorbs
And then is engorged,

As the winter-zebra was
A white horse
Which sought stripes

To hide from the tiger
Within the night’s tundra,
As snow grows not in clouds

But now on the limbs of trees
I sought your lightness,
Absorb, enfold,

Be altered by it.

Haiku #99 – #105

99.

All pain is external, Like oil
from a thousand thistles,
Hurts only when applied to my skin.

100.

On the island
Life with no urgency
No sense of emergency.

101.

My family’s diaspora,
Like chess pieces
On different boards.

102.

At the firing squad wall
The shackles fell,
I deliberately missed myself.

103.

Destiny lifts us to heaven,
To dungeons doom delivers,
Unseen mouths swap words.

104.

The hypocrisy
Of exile, mid winter,
Resides in judges teeth.

105.

The more I give towards others
Than towards myself,
The more my self might live.

Homeward Bound

Hurry homeward, through centuries of snow
To your home, your candles are now lighted,
And the trees are all benighted
By stars Silver and Green aglow.

The tablecloth returned to its table,
The berries are various goldens,
And moulting Moonlight emboldens
The mantel with candles and stable.

There is a way that parts,
Where all that’s good might end,
Where the river of time cannot bend,
As the infinite softness of snow might overthrow the hearts

Of trees and sedge; so I too succumbed,
Fell through eternities of snow-laden trees,
Punishment for crimes without release.
The tips of the trees thumbed

My stomach but could not have me saved,
Nor could the snow below save me,
Nor could all the children of the forest save me,
Their falling father. The falling was engraved

In his heart, until landing at this table,
Prepared with poinsettia for the seasons,
Healed for the lady of the forest’s reasons,
Beneath the icicles on the gable.

There is a way that parts,
Where all that’s good might end,
Where the river of time cannot bend,
But not within these winters’ hearts.