3 Haikus || An Oblation of Things

Beneath the red eaves
a spider’s-web sail unfurls
leeward, boughs bending

Moss shimmers silver
old Sol sets in the branches’
autumn silhouette

I lie under leaves
the sanctuary above
earthen priest below

Shelter

Sept. 18: Dangerous conditions today on the Tennessee River.

The wind struggles with the current; the water churns behind the pylons.

Even the sky is in turmoil.

 

I am the surface of the water. I am broken; a fractured frame of glass,

stretched thin from shore to shore. All I can hear is the wind tearing

upstream, toward my home.

 

The furniture in the living room rearranges to accommodate the flood.

Soon we will live in an aquarium with glass walls, so all can see:

we are bent by the current.

 

(Slowly, with time)

 

5:35 pm; I can hear the blood pulsing in the veins behind my ears.

The wind has died down, and all besides that steadfast throb is quiet.

I am alive; I am a being.

Verdant Hymn

There’s a welling up, as of waves,

in me, but also without me –

I am only a member of the swell;

a vessel, uproarious with delight

as the waves pass through me.

 

Sweet energy! Glory! Rebirth!

Laughter and mirth are all we are

in these streaks of redemption!

 

The taste of a silent, still buzz

of electricity fluttering in air,

like the first rays of Spring’s sun;

the quiet hum beneath sparrows’ song.

 

The clear, fragrancy of the beginning

to vernal eternity, telling us – nay!

Crooning to us:

            winter was well worth waiting through.