Haiku 52

March, forgiven sins at last… a roast beef sandwich

At my death… will even the wasted time comfort me?

He speaks to me in the dreams I don’t have until summer

The Air Force man holds a sapling, two feet from the root ball

Thick thud, the cooper’s mallet– so much sleet!

March… big fish in small bowl eyes the thunderstorm

Where do you call home? queries bluebird from her upraised branch

March… drums like a dropped tire iron– gravel crunch

Late March… thunderclaps, quite like a shoving match

Late March… drowsy train driver thinks in long words

Late March: wind on my shaved neck… stalled bus

March… The harlequin eludes me south past the bank

The madwoman… will she cross the street? (She gets on my bus)

She won’t be vaccinated… all I can do is watch the birds

The sultan in his palace if he strains a bit hears the cricket

March… the raven strains its neck for half an apple

March… effervescence of the dew and a jackhammer

Angel whispers… the night breeze, sweeping up leaves

March… cargo barge off downtown dwarfs the ferry

And one day, masks stacked cupboard… thick dust