Marriage a mooring where we park our salted boards wet with adventure.
Birds trilling brightly this February morning in abundant sun.
Senior Manager— licking its paws, lonely ego on its mountain.
After our fight, freed my mind finally perches on top of its cage.
Six weeks without drink— tonight a dark bottle, then wakeful sweaty sleep.
Mid-winter snow melt, up sprout ponds— wide flowers.
Occasionally I write tanka, a form similar to haiku but adding two seven syllable lines at the end, when I need a bit more room to work out the moment I’m describing. Below is an example.
Yowling in the night— pajamas tucked into boots I wade through snowmelt to the coop—roosted chickens rouse, confused by my concern.
Sometimes the tight constraint of the 3-5-3 haiku serves my purposes better, as below.
Poor plum tree in the low spot, drenched and gasping.
In this fallen world ants seeping in through the space between wall and floor in this remodeled farmhouse— my hands cannot close the crack.
Rising—the sun, the bread. The house fills—beginner's light, yeasty aroma.
Below the snowy pines, three deer—grazing, watching, bedded but aware.
Skittering across a featureless plane of new snow a single brown leaf.
These wind gusts, are they aging winter's last thrusts or spring's coldest tantrums?
Enjoying the stew I take a second helping, stomach protesting.
Each time I watch this old movie it changes.
I peel the beef tongue trying not to think about tongues licking, speaking.
Mouths full of sugar, an American family, another movie.
All afternoon I bake a dessert that will make my stomach hurt.
Melting snow— family watching TV all day long.
Pausing the walk, we listen, unsure at first, then— first spring geese honking. --- Ankle-deep snowmelt— overhead, honking, flapping, the first geese of spring.
Melting snow reveals the bright green Iris leaves.
About half gone, snow cover reveals tunnels, mouse walkways winding white.